e 


BERTRANO   SMITH 

140  Pacific  Ave. 

I>ONG  BEACH, 


2047020 


THE  LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 


THE 

LAUNCHING 

OF  A  MAN 

X 

BY 

STANLEY 
WATERLOO 

AUTHOR  OF 

"ARMAGEDDON" 
"  STORY  OF  AB  " 
"A  MAN  AND  A  WOMAN" 
ETC. 

CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 
RAND,  McNALLY  &  COMPANY.  PUBLISHERS. 

MDCCCXCIX. 

Copyright,  1899,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I — AT  THE  UNIVERSITY 5 

II — THE  RELATIONS  OF  THINGS 13 

III — A  BATTLE  ROYAL, 21 

IV — As  TO  ANALYTICAL  GEOMETRY, 31 

V — THE  GREAT  BALL  GAME, 42 

VI — CLOSE  TO  A  PROFESSOR, 51 

VII — SURVEYING  THE  CAT  HOLE, 61 

VIII — A  JUNIOR  AND  A  YOUNG  WOMAN, 70 

IX — A  NORTHWARD  DRIFT, 81 

X — AN  OASIS  IN  THE  FOREST, 88 

XI — SWEET  CROSS  PURPOSES, 95 

XII — "  LOVE  WILL  FIND  OUT  THE  WAY," 104 

XIII— "  THE  WOOIN' O'T," 118 

XIV — A  WINTER  FESTIVAL, 130 

XV — "  THE  CAVE  OF  SILVER," 142 

XVI — IN  A  NEW  WORLD 155 

XVII— THE  PITY  OF  IT, 161 

XVIII — THE  ROOM  OF  DEAD  VANITIES, •  .  168 

XIX— SHOWN  THE  DOOR, 174 

XX — THE  RELEASE  OF  ELSIE, 181 

XXI — THE  LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN, 191 

XXII — AT  THE  HALF-WAY  HOUSE 203 

XXIII — THE  HOME-COMING, 212 

XXIV — IN  THE  NORTH  AGAIN 223 

XXV — VAGARIES, 231 

XXVI — "  WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I,"  .     .     .  240 

XXVII— "  MORE," 255 

XXVIII— JOHN  HALFDAY'S  ERRAND 263 

XXIX— THE  FOOT  RACE 270 

XXX — ROSE  IN  BLOOM 282 


THE  LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AT  THE  UNIVERSITY. 

"J'ai  un  grand  besoin  d'un  cheval." 

The  professor  sat  before  a  desk  upon  a  raised 
platform  in  the  recitation  room  in  which  the 
sophomores  were  assembled  to  have  trouble  with 
conic  sections.  Upon  the  wall  behind  the  professor 
was  a  huge  blackboard ;  between  him  and  the  black- 
board stood  a  young  man  holding  in  one  hand  a  slip 
of  paper  upon  which  a  problem  was  indicated  and 
in  the  other  a  chalk  pencil.  The  professor,  as  he 
was  situated,  could  not  see  the  blackboard  with- 
out turning  in  his  seat,  as  he  did  occasionally,  to 
note  the  progress  of  the  student  with  the  problem. 
So  it  was  that  he  did  not  see  the  sentence  in 
moderately  bad  French  which  the  student  had 
written  with  a  grin  and  then  swiftly  obliterated 
after  it  had  been  seen  by  the  laughing  class.  The 
sentence  conveyed  to  sympathizing  friends  the  idea: 

"I  am  in  great  need  of  a  'horse'." 

At  once  half  a  dozen  of  the  more  mathematic- 
ally gifted  became  interested  in  writing  upon  bits 
of  paper  and,  in  a  few  seconds,  "pat,  pat,  pat," 

5 


°  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

little  wads,  deftly  flipped  and  unnoticed  by  the  grim 
questioner  in  front,  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  man  at  the 
board.  He  picked  one  of  them  up,  opened  it,  con- 
cealed it  in  the  book  in  his  hand,  turned  again, 
smiled  affably  at  the  class  and  calmly  began  his 
work  again  upon  the  problem.  A  "horse"  or 
"pony"  meant  a  demonstration  already  in  hand, 
and  he  was  now  prepared  for  the  emergency. 

The  two  men,  old  and  young,  professor  and 
sophomore,  were  such  as  would  attract  a  degree  of 
attention  anywhere,  though  as  different  in  appear- 
ance as  in  age.  Each  was  striking  in  his  way,  the 
professor  markedly  so.  He  was  a  man  perhaps 
fifty  years  of  age  and,  when  a  boy,  he  must  have 
been  the  most  distinctly  tow-headed  youth  of  all  his 
region.  Now,  he  was  cleanly  bald  save  for  a  fringe 
of  sandy  hair  which  made  more  prominent  and 
striking  the  dome-like  forehead.  The  eyebrows, 
though  light  in  color,  were  heavy,  and  imparted 
a  certain  saturnine  dignity  to  his  countenance, 
but  the  mouth  of  the  professor  was  his  most  strik- 
ing feature.  It  was  large,  very  large,  and  two 
immense  white  teeth  in  the  front  of  the  upper  jaw 
projected  outward  and,  despite  the  fact  that  they 
were  close  together,  suggested  an  old  white  boar 
who  had  wandered  into  the  open  and  was  about 
selecting  a  victim  for  those  same  tusks.  It  was  a 
stern  face,  but  there  was  an  amelioration  to  its 
ruggedness.  The  close  observer  could  now  and 
then  detect  a  twinkle  in  the  eyes,  deep  set  beneath 
the  looming  eyebrows,  and  the  older  men  in  the 
University,  those  whose  feet  were  near  the  mountain 


AT    THE    UNIVERSITY,  7 

tops,  gave  patronizing  information  to  the  under- 
lings to  the  effect  that  "Old  Syllabus"  was  very 
fine  indeed.  He  was  loved  more  than  feared, 
but,  even  to  sophomores,  any  sort  of  liking  for  him 
seemed,  necessarily,  an  acquired  taste. 

Famous  upon  two  continents  as  a  mathema- 
tician was  the  professor,  and  his  text-books  were 
among  the  standards.  He  tolerated  the  Greek  and 
Latin  professors,  and  others  in  the  strictly  literary 
field,  some  even  more  widely  known  than  he,  but 
he  was  not  of  them.  How  could  anything  in  litera- 
ure  compare  with  the  beauties  of  an  intricate  equa- 
tion? How  came  it  that  many  in  his  class,  fine- 
looking  fellows,  too,  cared  more  for  the  Iliad  than 
for  dalliance  with  the  "Witch  of  Agnesi,"  that  prob- 
lem where  X  and  Y  disport  themselves  so  gaudily? 
He  was  a  wonderful  man,  just  the  man  for  the  place, 
and  even  those  who  feared  but  had  not  yet  learned 
to  love  were  very  proud  of  him  as  one  of  the  giants 
of  a  great  university  faculty. 

The  young  man  behind  the  professor,  he  of  the 
flagrant  performance  at  the  blackboard,  was  a 
creditable  animal.  Twenty  years  of  age,  dark 
haired,  about  six  feet  in  height,  deep-chested  and 
big-legged,  he  was  decidedly  an  athlete  and,  as  his 
clear  face  and  supple  motions  showed,  one  in  the 
best  of  training.  There  was  no  better  man 
physically  in  all  the  sophomore  class.  Mentally, 
though  the  features  were  strong  and  the  head  well- 
shaped,  there  was  a  shade  less  apparent  develop- 
ment than  appeared  of  the  body.  The  lacking  thing 
was  to  come.  There  was  a  laugh  in  the  dark  eyes 


8  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

and  a  certain  careless  air  which  spoke  of  the  day 
rather  than  of  the  morrow.  It  was  evident  that 
Robert  Sargent,  for  such  his  name  chanced  to  be, 
was  still,  despite  his  thews  and  sinews,  much  of  a 
boy.  He  was  a  wholesome  object,  certainly,  as  he 
stood  at  the  board  working  rapidly,  strong  of  jaw 
but  flush  in  the  appreciation  of  life,  enjoying 
even  his  own  half-humiliation  in  calling  for  the 
assistance  of  his  grinning  but  sympathizing  class- 
mates. 

He  was  a  Wolverine,  this  student  at  the  black- 
board, and  to  be  a  Wolverine  is  what  no  man  nor 
woman  need  feel  ashamed  for.  When  white  men 
first  trod  the  forests  of  the  lake-surrounded  state 
named  Michigan  they  found  there  a  creature  such 
as  interested  them  while  it  created  something  of  a 
dread.  Not  "little  wolf,"  as  the  ignorant  think, 
is  the  signification  of  "wolverine,"  but  something 
of  greater  dignity,  an  embodiment  of  the  terrible 
spirit  of  the  wild  life  of  prehistoric  forests.  Wonder- 
ful in  its  strength  and  courage,  a  tree-climber  on 
occasion,  not  immense  of  size  but  with  limbs  nearly 
as  heavy  and  claws  as  great  as  those  of  a  bear,  with 
a  muzzle  almost  hog-like  but  with  great  white  fangs, 
the  beast  had  still  an  element  of  the  grotesque  in  its 
make-up,  with  its  sweeping  bushy  tail  and  the  broad 
bands  of  yellow- white  upon  its  back  and  shoulders. 
Woe  to  the  smaller  beast  or  the  deer  upon  which 
it  dropped  from  some  great  low-hanging  branch  or 
before  whom  it  suddenly  appeared  in  the  dense 
windfalls.  And  no  lion  of  the  Orient,  no  grizzly  of 
the  Occident  has  such  a  pedigree,  for  the  wolverine 


AT   THE    UNIVERSITY.  9 

has  hardly  changed  his  form  with  the  passing  ages, 
and  is  as  he  was  before  all  history  began.  The 
geologists  respect  him  as  deeply  as  does,  to-day,  the 
hunter  of  the  far  Northwest,  where  he  is  still  the 
"Indian  Devil"  of  the  trapper  and  an  enemy  not  to 
be  encountered  carelessly,  so  bloodthirsty  and 
knowing  and  ferocious  is  he.  Of  all  the  continent 
the  Michigan  Peninsula  was  the  chosen  habitat  of 
the  wolverine  and  he  struggled  long  before  back- 
woodsmen drove  him  from  his  heritage.  So  endur- 
ing was  he,  so  desperately  courageous,  that  his  name 
became  a  synonym  for  pluck  and  prowess,  and 
proudly  the  people  of  Michigan  accept  the  nickname 
which  has  been  given  them.  It  may  be  because  the 
state  lies  all  between  blue  water  that  its  air  has  such 
a  vigor  to  it,  but,  as  the  wolverine  had,  so  the  people 
there  have  brawn  and  energy.  Therefore,  to  say 
truly  of  this  young  student  at  the  University  that  he 
was  a  Wolverine  does  him  some  credit. 

The  questioning  of  the  class  came  to  an  end  at 
last  and  the  professor  turned  to  Sargent  for  an 
elucidation  of  the  bewildering  problem  now  pre- 
sented on  the  board  by  numerous  glaring  and  caba- 
listic designs. 

"Go  on;  make  your  explanation. " 

There  was,  as  the  young  man  began  talking,  a 
decided  lack  of  that  fire  which  appertains  to  the 
orator  dealing  with  a  subject  which  he  loves.  There 
was  nothing  impassioned  in  his  manner.  Far  from 
it.  He,  metaphorically,  walked  in  strange  ways  and 
as  if  on  eggs,  but  somehow  he  emerged  from  the 
labyrinth,  and,  the  explanation  ended,  looked  ques- 


io  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

tioningly  at  the  professor,  who  was  smiling,  more  or 
less  sarcastically. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  comprehend  it  all,  Mr. 
Sargent?"  he  asked  blandly. 

The  young  man,  to  whom  in  mathematics  Scylla 
was  as  Charybdis,  and  whose  galley  had  been  ever 
perilously  near  the  rocks,  spoke  somewhat  placat- 
ingly: 

4 '  It  was  bungling,  I  know — my  explanation. ' ' 

"I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  disagree  with  you. 
That  will  do,  young  gentlemen;"  and  the  class  filed 
from  the  room. 

Not  a  jot  abashed  by  the  rebuff  administered  was 
the  young  man  who  had  not  done  well  at  recitation. 
There  was  a  laugh  as  he  joined  the  out-pouring,  but 
such  an  incident  was  too  common  with  too  many  of 
them  to  be  of  much  importance.  In  other  branches 
of  study  Sargent  could  hold  his  own,  and  the  demi- 
gods in  students'  eyes  are  never  dependent  upon 
their  places  in  class  for  their  loyal  following. 

As  the  class  issued  from  the  building  out  upon  the 
graveled  walk,  there  emerged  from  another  struc- 
ture another  class,  larger  in  number,  but,  though 
noisy,  apparently  less  at  home.  It  was  the  freshman 
class  of  the  year.  Sargent  looked  toward  it  critically 
and  turned  as  the  man  beside  him  spoke : 

"Those  new  things  are  lacking  in  all  deportment. 
When  shall  we  begin  our  kindly  duties  in  the  reform- 
atory way?" 

"To-morrow,  I  imagine,"  was  the  careless 
rejoinder. 

"How  do  you  think  it  will  come  out?" 


AT    THE    UNIVERSITY.  n 

"I  don't  know, "said  Sargent,  surveying  closely 
the  long  line  of  young  men  whom  they  were  passing 
and  who  looked  upon  the  sophomores  much  as  a  herd 
of  buffaloes  might  look  upon  encircling  wolves. 
"They're  a  well  put-up  lot.  How,  for  instance,  do 
you  like  the  look  of  the  fellow  in  the  brown  hat? 
Would  you  like  a  grapple  with  him?" 

"Not  I, "  answered  the  other.  "You're  the  man  for 
him,  if  matters  get  too  personal.  He's  the  best  man 
in  the  class,  they  say.  He's  bound  to  be  in  the  foot- 
ball eleven,  for  he's  reported  to  have  been  a  whale 
that  way  in  high  school.  You're  in  trim,  but,  if 
you  two  meet,  I  think  you'll  have  your  hands  full." 

"Well,  we'll  rely  upon  luck  and  the  law  that  new 
troops  get  panicky.  Were  you  with  the  crowd  that 
smoked  out  one  of  them  last  night?" 

"No." 

"I'm  glad  of  it;  I  don't  like  that  smoking  out.  I 
believe  in  kindness  to  children.  A  rush  is  different, 
because  the  odds  are  different.  Holy  Moses! 
There's  a  little  duffer  with  a  cane!" 

Sargent  stepped  from  his  own  column  and  deftly 
twitched  from  the  hands  of  a  natty  young  freshman 
a  light  rattan  which  he  was  twirling  in  all  innocence. 
"Don't  you  know  that  you  are  impious  and  im- 
modest?" the  sophomore  roared  in  the  ears  of  the 
late  cane-bearer.  "A  freshman  with  a  cane!  It's 
a  wonder  the  lightnings  don't  fall  from  heaven  and 
lick  you  up!  Young  man,  I've  saved  your  life!" 

There  was  a  rallying  of  other  freshmen  around  the 
plundered  one  and  sophomores  ahead  came  back,  but 
there  was  no  encounter.  It  was  not  the  time  for 


12  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

that.  There  was  much  jeering,  though,  and  pon- 
derous announcements  by  the  sophomores  as  to  what 
the  morrow  would  bring  forth,  to  which  the  fresh- 
men responded  valiantly,  though  without  the  glib- 
ness  born  of  practice. 


THE    RELATIONS    OF    THINGS.  13 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  RELATIONS  OF  THINGS. 

In  autumn,  when  the  sky  is  clear,  the  scene 
about  one  of  the  largest  and  greatest  universities  in 
the  world  is  assuredly  a  fine  one.  The  huge  build- 
ings give  a  dignity  to  the  campus  and  the  sun  glori- 
fies a  thousand  windows,  as  it  does  the  reddening 
leaves  of  the  trees  along  the  broad  thoroughfares 
and  upon  the  distant  hills.  Nature  and  man  have  in 
their  work  combined  to  make  a  splendid  picture — 
even  the  freshman  should  be  glad  in  his  new  and 
unaccustomed  home — but,  of  all  there  is  to  be  seen, 
nothing  may  compare  with  the  young  men.  They 
come  from  the  mountains  of  the  far  Northwest  and 
from  the  distant  land  of  grapes  and  oranges  on  the 
western  slopes  of  the  Sierras,  from  Florida  and  Ore- 
gon, from  every  state  in  the  Union,  and  from  Canada ; 
youth  of  varying  tradition,  training  and  appearance, 
but  all  led  by  the  same  ambition  and  destined  to 
attain,  by  companionship,  a  schooling  perhaps  as 
broadening  as  that  gained  from  the  learned  pro- 
fessors to  whom  they  listen  daily. 

Different  in  gait,  in  dress,  and  in  pronunciation, 
are  these  knowledge-seeking  youths.  It  requires  no 
keen  eye  to  distinguish  the  Texan  from  the  Penn- 
sylvanian,  or  the  Californian  from  the  Tennesseean, 
but,  as  the  four  years  of  study  and  association  slip 


14  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

away,  the  members  of  the  great  mass  conform  more 
and  more  in  garb  and  walk  and  manner,  and  there 
goes  forth,  finally,  into  the  world,  a  group  of  reso- 
lute, clean-cut  Americans  who  think  little  of  state 
lines  and  are  as  lacking  in  dialects  as  in  prejudices. 
The  influences  about  them  have  been  such  as  to 
make  strong  men.  The  breeze  across  the  hills  is  not 
more  wholesome. 

It  was  October  and  the  flurry  of  the  opening  of 
the  collegiate  year  was  over.  The  returning 
students  had  become  domiciled  and  the  new  ones 
who  had  passed  examinations  were  settled  down  to 
the  life  which  was  to  them  a  novelty,  a  life  the  varied 
experiences  of  which  were  all  before  them  and 
entered  upon  with  mixed  delight  and  doubtfulness. 
Already  the  freshmen  had  decided  among  themselves 
that  their  class  contained  material  to  make  it  famous 
in  future  annals  of  the  University,  and  lacked  no  con- 
fidence that  the  year  of  their  graduation  would  be 
one  of  importance  to  the  country.  Their  very 
existence  was,  it  is  true,  unnoticed  by  the  seniors, 
but  the  juniors  were  most  friendly,  and  as  for  the 
sophomores,  they  were,  at  best,  but  as  the  dingoes 
of  Australia  or  the  dogs  of  the  Deccan,  creatures 
whose  friendship  was  impossible  and  who  were  to  be 
looked  upon,  at  best,  with  apprehension.  In  college 
the  adversaries  of  each  class  are  the  classes  im- 
mediately before  and  behind  it,  the  oppressors  or 
the  oppressed. 

Sufficient  time  had  not  yet  passed  for  completion 
of  the  curt  pour-parlers  in  open  air  preceding  the 
usual  merely  surface  class  vendetta  which  comes  up 


THE    RELATIONS    OP   THINGS.  15 

like  a  mushroom  between  sophomores  and  freshmen, 
but  the  soil  was  tilled  and  waiting-  and  the  harvest 
promised  to  be  plenteous.  '  The  crisis  was  imminent, 
but  affairs  among  the  interests  outside  of  study 
required  attention.  There  were  class  elections  and 
Greek  letter  fraternity  matters,  and,  particularly 
pressing,  the  necessity  for  work  by  the  base-ball, 
foot-ball,  and  cricket  teams.  In  the  first  of  these 
young  Sargent  was  deeply  interested.  He  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  the  year  before  and  had  now 
been  elected  captain. 

Foot-ball  was  growing  in  favor  in  the  University. 
There  is  no  better  discipline  of  body  and  of  temper 
than  that  gained  in  foot-ball,  and  even  those  who 
were  not  enthusiastic  over  the  game  often  became 
members  of  the  two  half-trained  teams  who  made 
great  clamor  in  their  contests.  There  existed  then 
no  such  strict  rules  as  have  come  to  regulate  the 
game  of  late,  and,  though  accidents  were  rare,  there 
were  many  noble  contests.  Asked  what  the  rules 
were  by  a  Rugby  man  who  had  entered  the  Uni- 
versity, the  captain  of  one  team  responded  blithely : 
"There  are  none  to  speak  of,  save  that  no  man  is 
allowed  to  use  an  axe."  The  ball  was  sometimes  of 
rubber,  and  its  existence  was  always  brief. 

To  cricket  pertained  more  dignity,  because  of  a 
group  of  opponents  existing  outside,  and  of  most 
admirable  metal.  These  were,  almost  without 
exception,  middle-aged  Englishmen  living  in  towns 
along  the  principal  railroad  line  passing  through  the 
University  town.  They  had  been  cricketers  in  the 
old  country,  and  their  hands  had  not  forgotten  their 


16  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

cunning,  their  legs  their  sturdiness,  nor  their  heads 
their  wisdom  in  the  field.  They  would  come,  these 
graybeards;  and  the  University  eleven,  reinforced 
by  picked  men  from  the  base-ball  team,  would  meet 
them  manfully,  but  too  often  with  most  inglorious 
results  to  the  rash  youngsters.  In  vain  the  best 
bowlers  would  send  the  ball  whizzing  fiercely  at  those 
craftily-guarded  wickets,  in  vain  the  best  catchers 
would  hover  about  the  field ;  slowly  but  surely  those 
old  farmers  and  shopkeepers  would  add  to  their 
score,  and  the  showing  made  was  always  good. 

But  it  was  when  the  University  men  had  come  to 
bat  and  the  veteran  bowlers  were  arrayed  against 
them  that  the  youngsters  learned  what  fine  work 
appertains  to  the  game  so  popular  across  the  water. 
Those  toughened  and  still  keen-eyed  old  men  would 
deliver  balls  which  conducted  themselves  in  a  most 
sinister  and  mysterious  way.  They  would  come 
hurtling  like  cannon  shot,  they  would  roll  lazily 
along  the  ground  in  a  manner  most  deceptive,  or 
they  would  start  apparently  far  aside  from  the  wicket 
and  then  turn  like  a  serpent  and  find  it  surrepti- 
tiously and  suddenly.  Most  improving  to  a  vaunting 
spirit  were  these  games  with  the  old  British  experts, 
who  usually,  though  not  on  all  occasions,  gained  the 
victory. 

And  what  suppers  followed  the  contests,  when  the 
graybeards,  flushed  with  conquest  and  ale  and  made 
affable  by  much  eating  and  smoking,  told  such  tales 
of  wonderful  feats  in  youth  as  would  have  suited  an 
Indian  chief  about  to  give  his  personal  history  just 
before  a  scalp  dance ! 


THE    RELATIONS    OF    THINGS.  17 

These  things  were  all  well,  but  it  was  the 
"national  game"  which  commanded  the  real  atten- 
tion of  those  students  who  were  training  body  and 
mind  together  at  the  old  University,  which  placed  the 
captain  of  the  first  nine  upon  a  pedestal,  the  captains 
of  other  and  minor  nines  great  men,  and  gave  to 
every  member  of  those  organizations  a  standing 
which  was  most  enviable.  Sargent  had  won  his 
position  fairly  and  bore  his  weight  of  honor  with 
more  or  less  modesty  and  meekness.  He  had  been 
a  ball-player  from  his  childhood.  Born  in  the  coun- 
try, he  had  played  "two  old  cat"  with  other  farmer 
boys,  and  later,  in  the  bustling  town  of  the  Saginaw 
Valley,  where  he  had  prepared  for  college,  he  had  be- 
come captain  of  the  high  school  nine  and  developed 
an  executive  genius  which  even  surpassed  his  value  in 
the  field.  He  gained  a  place  in  the  University  nine 
almost  immediately  after  his  entrance  to  college  and 
had  done  such  work  in  many  a  hard-fought  game  as 
had  marked  and  elected  him  for  the  place  he  held. 
He  was  an  enthusiast  and  a  hard  trainer.  "The 
Czar"  they  called  him.  He  had  clever  and  brawny 
youths  to  handle,  among  them  his  room-mate  and 
crony,  Sam  Lathrop. 

There  were  daily  contests  now,  between  the  first 
nine  and  the  others ;  for  the  season  of  matches  was 
at  hand,  and  to  the  sophomores  who  were  among  the 
players  even  the  noble  and  necessary  work  of  dis- 
ciplining freshmen  lost  much  of  its  importance. 

"Bob,"  said  Lathrop  one  night  after  an  hour  of 
silence  between  the  two  while  they  had  been 
engaged  in  studies,  "a  scandalous  thing  occurred 


1 8  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

to-day,  something — I  say  it  mildly — which  was  a  dis- 
grace to  the  University  and  the  times!  I  was 
coming  down  town  and  had  reached  a  place  on  the 
walk  where  repairs  were  going  on,  and  where  only 
a  single  plank  led  over  the  dust  to  where  the  walk 
was  good  again.  Three  large  freshmen  reached  one 
end  of  the  plank  as  I  reached  the  other.  They 
glared  at  me  in  a  most  offensive  manner,  and  when 
I  started  out  across  the  walk  they  started  as  well, 
one  behind  the  other.  We  met,  and,  when  I 
ordered  the  menials  off  the  plank  to  make  room  for 
me,  they  laughed  in  my  face ! ' ' 

"What!"  said  Sargent.  "What  are  you  telling 
me?" 

"They  were  three  to  one,"  said  Lathrop,  "and  big 
fellows,  and  they  finally  made  me  walk  in  the  dust 
while  they  occupied  the  plank !  Me !  a  member  of 
the  base-ball  nine  and  a  passed  sophomore,  the  first 
by  deserts,  the  last,  I  admit,  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth, 
but  still  a  sophomore!  Are  the  heavens  going  to 
fall?" 

Sargent  gave  a  yell  of  indignation:  "It's  the 
outrage  of  the  century !  A  sophomore  walking  in  the 
dust  while  freshmen  keep  their  boots  clean !  What 
did  you  do?" 

"Do?  I  walked  in  the  dust!  They  were  each  as 
big  as  I  and  three  to  one,  I  tell  you.  True,  I  did 
address  the  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the 
savages,  and  expressed  my  intention  of  eating  his 
heart  broiled,  within  a  day  or  two,  but  he  didn't 
seem  to  get  into  any  ague  of  fright  on  that  account. 
I  tell  you  they're  going  to  the  dogs — those  freshmen 


THE    RELATIONS    OF    THINGS  19 

— their  minds  haven't  been  improved,  nor  their 
morals!  We  have  been  neglecting  the  solemn  duty 
imposed  upon  us  by  natural  laws.  We're  morally 
responsible  for  the  welfare  of  those  creatures,  and 
we've  got  to  teach  'em  the  great  lesson  of  humility 
and  obedience  right  away.  How  about  rushing 
them  to-morrow  as  a  preliminary?" 

"There's  no  question  about  our  responsibility," 
said  Sargent,  "and  I  suppose,"  he  sighed,  "that  we 
might  as  well  begin  at  once  the  performance  of  our 
more  or  less  painful  duty.  I  tell  you,  though,  my 
brother  missionary,  that  they  have  a  big  class,  and 
have,  I  greatly  fear,  some  most  pagan  and  obdurate 
spirits  among  them." 

"But  they've  never  been  in  a  rush!" 

"True,  my  ardent  co-laborer  in  the  vineyard,  but 
they  are  many,  and,  as  I  have  noted,  mostly  heavy 
beings.  It  is  possible  that  among  the  scraps  of 
mathematical  wisdom  that  have  chanced  to  adhere 
to  your  memory  from  much  sitting  at  the  feet  of 
Old  Syllabus  is  something  to  the  effect  that  momen- 
tum is  a  product  of  the  mass  and  velocity  of  a  body? 
Momentum  is  what  tells  in  a  rush.  Now,  we  are 
great  on  velocity,  but  are  we  not,  relatively, 
deficient  in  mass?  They  have  nearly  twice  as  many 
men  as  we." 

"What  of  that?  Don't  shake  any  momentum  at 
me!  We've  got  it.  A  mass  is  where  the  particles 
move  together,  and  the  freshmen  havn't  got  in  the 
way  of  that  yet.  We'll  pass  the  word  in  the  class- 
room and  later  appear  with  the  resistless  force  of  a 
stampede  of  bisons.  We  will  scatter  the  freshmen 


20  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

as  the  wind  scatters  the  leaves,  and  they'll  learn 
how  good  and  pleasant  a  thing  it  is  to  obey  superiors. 
They  ought  to  be  grateful,  but  I'm  afraid  they 
won't  be." 

And  the  two  sophomores  arranged  the  details  as  to 
the  manner  in  which  the  "rush"  should  be  engaged 
in  by  all  the  class  next  day,  and  then  slept  the  sleep 
of  good  digestion.  The  sky  darkened  and  the  rain 
came  down  in  sheets,  and  continuous  thunder  affected 
the  dreams  of  the  warlike  L&throp  and  made  him 
fancy  himself  already  in  the  midst  of  the  fray. 


A    BATTLE    ROYAL.  21 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  BATTLE  ROYAL. 

The  sentiment  that  freshmen  should  be  allowed 
to  live,  if  properly  subject  to  the  sophomore  class, 
was  held  by  a  majority  of  the  sophomores.  Warm 
personal  friendships  existed  between  members  of 
the  two  classes — some  sophomores  had  brothers 
among  the  freshmen — but  this  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  relations  of  the  forces  as  bodies.  At  the 
gathering  instigated  by  Sargent  and  Lathrop  a  fluent 
sophomore,  addressing  his  classmates,  expressed 
something  like  the  general  opinion : 

"The  freshman,  my  brethren,"  he  began,  "is,  as 
we  all  know,  a  most  irresponsible,  contumacious 
and  ill-bred  creature,  normally,  when  he  first  makes 
his  appearance  in  classic  abodes.  Even  the  milling 
of  the  examining  professors  fails  to  reduce 
sufficiently  his  obtuseness  and  unbecoming  inde- 
pendence, or  to  inculcate  that  humility  which,  in 
time,  will  become  his  greatest  merit,  and  make  of 
him  a  being  at  least  endurable.  He  is  morally  and 
mentally  a  sort  of  missing  link,  with  the  simian 
predominating,  and  whether  he  shall  advance  or 
retrograde  depends  almost  entirely  upon  the  noble 
missionary  work  of  the  sophomore,  whose  happy 
fortune  it  is  his  privilege  to  follow  in  the  University. 
Of  course  there  are  gradations,  there  are  freshman 


22  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

classes  and  freshman  classes,  and  I  think  I  may  say  on 
this  occasion  that  it  is  a  truth  indisputable  that  the 
present  freshman  class  in  this  University  is  the  least 
docile,  the  most  impertinent  and  offensive,  the  most 
nearly  related  to  the  'beasts  that  perish'  of  any 
that  have  ever  walked  on  hallowed  ground,  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  present  sophomore  class  is 
one  possessed  of  the  highest  moral  character,  the 
loftiest  aims,  the  most  profound  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, the  finest  kind  of  brawn,  and  the  utmost 
nobility  generally,  of  any  sophomore  class  ever 
occupying  the  same  oasis!  It  is  the  class  best 
qualified  for  disciplining,  redeeming  and  elevating 
the  freshman  class  just  now  so  earnestly  but  inade- 
quately referred  to.  Brethren,  it  has  been  decided 
that  we  must  do  our  duty.  This  morning,  at  about 
eleven  o'clock,  the  freshman  class  will,  between 
recitations,  wend  sou'  by  sou'east  along  the  gravel 
and  plank  walk  between  certain  of  the  buildings. 
At  the  same  time  the  sophomore  class  will,  between 
recitations,  be  wending  nor'  by  nor'west  along  the 
same  narrow  campus  thoroughfare.  Shall  freshmen 
occupy  a  walk  while  Sophomores  are  passing?  Far 
from  it!  We  shall  come  as  the  wind  comes  when 
hay-stacks  are  rended,  we  shall  come  as  the  waves 
come  when  big  whales  are  stranded,  and  we  shall 
rip  up  the  formation  of  those  callow  ones,  and  teach 
them  wisdom  and  their  rank  and  ranking !  Are  ye 
ready,  my  buxom,  blooming  missionaries?" 

There  was  a  general  shout  of  applause,  and  it  was 
understood  that  an  outdoor  rush  was  close  at  hand. 
Somehow,  the  information  reached  the  freshmen. 


A    BATTLE    ROYAL.  23 

All  night  long  the  rain  had  fallen  and  the  campus 
now  presented  a  scene  far  different  from  that  of  the 
day  before.  Where  had  been  wide  stretches  of 
green,  were  now  two  shining  lakes  which  the  autumn 
breeze  was  ruffling  into  wavelets.  The  walk 
between  the  University  buildings  was  a  gravel  one, 
somewhat  elevated,  near  the  center  of  which  were 
inset  parallel  walks,  along  which  classes,  if  peace- 
ably inclined,  might  pass  each  other  without  annoy- 
ance. The  flooding  of  the  grounds,  caused  by  the 
temporary  stoppage  of  some  outlet  at  a  distance,  left 
the  walk,  practically,  a  long  bridge  across  a  lake, 
the  waters  of  which  were  a  foot  or  two  in  depth. 
It  was  at  the  center  of  this  accidental  bridge  that 
the  sophomore  and  freshman  classes  must  necessarily 
meet. 

Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  from  the  buildings  near 
each  end  of  the  long  walk  emerged  the  two  classes. 
The  sophomores  formed  swiftly,  not  in  single  file  as 
usual,  but  in  double  file,  thus  occupying  the  entire 
walk,  and  advanced  slowly  as  a  solid  mass.  At  the 
other  building  there  was  a  swarming  and  hustling 
and  buzzing  among  the  far  more  numerous  fresh- 
men, and  some  time  passed  before  they  were 
similarly  ranged,  evidently  taking  the  cue  from 
their  opponents. 

The  sophomores,  upon  reaching  the  lake,  paused 
with  kindly  consideration.  They  wanted  to  meet 
the  freshmen  where  the  water  was  deepest. 

Slowly  the  forces  advanced  until  each  body  was 
encompassed  on  either  side  by  the  water  and  but  a 
few  feet  intervened  between  them.  Then  each 


24  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

paused  and  the  sophomores  gathered  more  closely, 
each  leaning  a  shoulder  against  the  man  in  front 
and  straining  forward  ready  for  the  charge.  Head- 
ing the  sophomores  were  two  of  the  heaviest  men  of 
the  class,  one  of  them  extremely  tall,  red-haired, 
wide-mouthed,  and  truculent  of  aspect.  To  him 
came  a  sudden  inspiration. 

The  sophomore  advanced  some  paces  to  the  front, 
glared  wildly  at  the  freshmen,  opened  his  mouth  to 
its  widest  extent  and  growled  fearfully,  at  the  same 
time  beating  his  breast  with  great  violence,  after 
the  manner  of  the  gorilla  of  the  jungles.  He  seized 
a  piece  of  drift  wood,  which  the  breeze  had  stranded 
by  the  walk,  and  broke  it  with  a  crash  across  his 
knees,  then  waved  the  pieces  wildly  and  leaped  up 
and  down,  gnashing  his  teeth  and  emitting  howls 
still  harsher  and  more  lugubrious  and  threatening. 
It  was  picturesque,  but,  as  a  sophomore  in  the  rear 
shouted,  it  was  not  war.  The  sophomores  gathered 
themselves  together,  and  charged  forward  at  the 
yell  of  command,  while  the  freshmen  met  them  as 
best  they  could. 

The  onset  was  irresistible,  and,  for  yards,  the  com- 
pact body  swept  ahead,  while  the  freshmen  were 
cast  aside  to  watery  graves — of  a  moment.  There 
were  too  many  freshmen,  though,  in  the  rear.  The 
lines  upon  the  walk  were  too  long.  There  were,  in 
their  columns,  too  many  pounds  of  healthy  flesh  and 
bone  to  be  entirely  carried  away  by  the  sophomore 
rush. 

Rightly  had  Sargent  declared  to  Lathrop  that 
momentum  was  the  product  of  the  mass  and  velocity 


A    BATTLE    ROYAL.  25 

of  a  body,  and  while  the  sophomores  had  the  velocity, 
the  freshmen  had  the  mass.  The  advancing  column 
slackened  its  speed,  wavered,  wobbled,  and  finally, 
after  maintaining  its  position  for  a  moment  or  two, 
went  slowly  backward.  Meanwhile  had  come  a 
threatening  diversion.  Muddy  mermen  were 
assaulting  the  sophomores  furiously  in  the  flanks. 

The  freshmen,  some  of  them  giants,  thrown  into 
the  water  by  the  first  onrush,  were  scrambling  to 
their  feet,  leaping  fiercely  against  the  sophomore  line 
and  from  it  tearing  men  down  into  the  water  with 
them.  Each  such  rough  abstraction  weakened  the 
hitherto  solid  column,  and  it  waved  and  swung. 
The  strong  men  in  front  grappled  with  those  oppos- 
ing them  and  they  swayed  and  surged  and  then 
toppled  into  the  water  by  twos  and  twos,  with 
mighty  splashes. 

More  men  rushed  forward  and  went  off  in  turn, 
and  so  this  well-planned  rush  degenerated  into  a 
mighty  aquatic  hand-to-hand  struggle,  with  fresh- 
men nearly  in  the  proportion  of  two  to  one.  It  was 
a  battle  to  become  famous  in  college  annals.  There 
were  cries  and  shouts,  and  the  waters,  so  peaceful 
and  apparently  pure,  a  few  moments  ago,  were  now 
a  roily  expanse  in  which  men  splashed  and  wallowed 
and  which  some  of  them  swallowed  in  unseemly 
quantity. 

In  all  battles,  or  almost  all,  there  is  some  great 
central  incident  which  fixes  the  attention  of  the 
beholders.  It  was  at  the  moment  just  described 
that  something  individually  notable  occurred.  No 
sophomore  was  more  loved,  or  widely  known  in  the 


26  THE    LAUNCHING    OP   A   MAN. 

University  than  Billy  Barnes,  and  none  enjoyed 
more  the  excitement  of  a  struggle.  He  had  a 
peculiar  war-cry,  all  his  own,  a  squall  of  most  pene- 
trating and  far-reaching  quality,  one  which  he 
emitted  in  times  of  stress,  but  sometimes  on  the 
slightest  pretext,  and  which  had  been  a  stimulus  to 
his  comrades  in  many  a  conflict.  By  some  strange 
chance  he  had  not  been  with  his  class  throughout 
the  morning  and  he  emerged  now  upon  the  broad 
landing  at  the  top  of  the  steps  of  the  Library  build- 
ing, where  he  had  been  engaged,  utterly  uncon- 
scious that  his  own  class  was  doing  desperate 
battle.  In  a  fraction  of  a  second  he  comprehended 
all.  He  gave  one  joyous  whoop,  followed  by  his 
strident  battle-cry,  then  leaped  downward  and 
hurled  himself  into  the  conflict.  He  was  received, 
even  as  he  reached  the  water,  in  the  hospitable  arms 
of  a  freshman  son  of  Anak,  who  gathered  him  in  his 
bosom,  leaned  forward,  and  fell  at  length  into  the 
muddy  flood  holding  his  prisoner  there,  lifting  his 
head  at  intervals  of  seconds  until  a  gasping  sur- 
render was  admitted.  Then  something  limp  and 
coughing  was  thrown  out  upon  the  bank,  and  Billy's 
battle  of  just  one  minute  and  a  half  was  ended  for 
the  day. 

Meanwhile  the  freshening  western  blast  hadn't 
aside  "the  shroud  of  battle  cast,"  chiefly  because 
there  wasn't  any  shroud — but  it  had  sufficed  to  fill 
again  the  lungs  of  some  scores  of  men  half  drowned 
and  released  to  land,  upon  parole.  Many  of  the 
athletes  of  either  party  were  still  upon  their  feet 
and  struggling,  and  many  more  stood  dripping  on 


A  BATTLE  ROYAL.  27 

either  shore,  freshmen  on  one  side,  and  sophomores 
on  the  other.  Gradually  those  still  engaged  deter- 
mined the  issue  between  man  and  man,  and  the 
struggle  came  to  an  end.  In  such  encounter,  where 
the  column  could  be  assailed  from  all  sides,  it  was 
evident  that  the  freshmen  had  somewhat  the  better 
of  it.  Providence,  as  in  other  instances,  in  other 
parts  of  the  world,  had  favored  the  heavier  battalion. 
As  Lathrop  put  it  regretfully,  "the  sophomore 
bowed  his  haughty  head,  and  tamed  his  heart  of 
fire,"  but  it  was  a  gallant  fray. 

Billy  Barnes,  now  somewhat  recovered,  came  up 
with  beaming  face  so  far  as  his  countenance  could 
be  discerned.  "This,"  he  remarked  thickly,  but 
enthusiastically,  as  he  sought  to  remove  a  portion 
of  the  mud  from  his  eyes  and  ears,  "This  is  a  red- 
letter  day  to  be  marked  with  a  white  stone!" 

The  two  classes  stood  thus,  glowering  across  the 
water,  and  there  were  numerous  verbal  passages  at 
arms,  when  the  argus-eyed  Billy  discovered  among 
the  sophomores  some  half  dozen  gentlemen  whose 
garb  was  in  perfect  order,  unwet  and  unstained. 
He  walked  about  them  as  certain  wild  beasts  are 
said  to  walk  about  their  prey  before  its  seizure,  and 
asked  of  them  sweetly  how  it  came  that  they  were 
in  such  prime  condition.  He  waxed  eloquent, 
though  retaining  his  purring  manner,  and  intimated 
softly  that  gentlemen  so  natty  of  appearance  must 
necessarily  have  been  recreant  in  the  time  of  recent 
conflict.  He  intimated  also  that  if  anything  in  the 
world  were  desirable  in  a  sophomore  class  it  was  what 
he  termed  "homogeneity  of  appearance,"  and  sug- 


28  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

gested  that  a  result  so  desirable  could  be  easily 
secured.  His  suggestion  was  received  with  wildest 
shouts.  There  was  a  rush  upon  the  infamously  dry 
ones  and  they  were  hustled  to  the  water  and 
plunged  beneath  its  murky  flood.  This  punitive  per- 
formance was  observed  instantly  by  the  freshmen 
upon  the  other  side,  and  with  a  roar  they  encircled 
their  own  recreants,  who  were  in  far  greater  number. 
It  was  a  fine  and  edifying  performance,  a  carnival  of 
sanguinary  baptism,  and  all  were  happy  save  the 
unfortunates  who  had  been  laggard  in  the  late 
encounter. 

Among  all  the  dripping  heroes  who  stood  upon 
the  sophomore  side  the  muddiest  was  easily  one 
Sargent,  sophomore  of  might  and  dignity,  captain  of 
the  base-ball  nine  of  the  University,  and,  but 
recently,  of  such  lofty  bearing  as  became  his  stand- 
ing. The  mighty  had  fallen,  and  evidently  fallen 
far.  As  he  stood  scraping  himself  with  a  convenient 
piece  of  shingle,  some  one  wanted  to  know  when  the 
clay  bank  horse  would  be  in  condition  for  another 
run,  and  some  one  else  suggested  that  there  were 
occasions  which  called  for  the  use  of  a  hose.  Sar- 
gent's experiences  in  the  battle  had  been  swift  and 
various.  One  freshman  after  another  he  had  half 
drowned  and  sent  to  shore  in  ignominy,  when  there 
had  suddenly  loomed  before  him  the  admitted 
champion  of  the  freshman  class,  the  identical  young 
man  to  whom  he  had  referred  as  an  exceedingly 
doubtful  subject  to  practice  athletic  exercises  upon, 
and  who  was  evidently  anxious  to  cultivate  a  more 
intimate  acquaintance.  They  grappled  at  once  and 


A    BATTLE    ROYAL.  29 

swayed  and  struggled  more  than  knee  deep  in  water, 
each  seeking  the  first  advantage,  which,  under 
existing  circumstances,  meant  almost  certain 
victory.  No  amateur  at  wrestling,  Sargent  found 
engaged  with  him,  but  one  as  apt  as  himself  at  all 
the  different  feints  and  tricks,  and  it  was  but  a 
matter  of  merest  chance  which  went  underneath. 
They  strained  and  twisted  and  became  panting  and 
scant  of  breath,  when,  suddenly,  as  they  swayed 
about,  Sargent  stepped  on  something  slippery,  his 
foot  failed  him,  and  a  second  later  he  was  under  a 
foot  and  a  half  of  cold  water  with  some  one  hun- 
dred and  seventy  pounds  of  well-knit  humanity 
above  him.  He  held  his  breath  and  heaved 
valiantly,  but  it  was  useless,  and  he  loosened  his 
grip  in  token  of  surrender,  rising,  laughingly,  to 
shake  hands  with  his  conqueror  and'  to  wade  ashore 
on  his  parole,  for  the  time.  In  later  days  he  had 
vengeance,  with  the  gloves  on,  but  the  acquaintance 
formed  thus  roughly  with  the  brawny  Levi  Maxon 
was  destined  to  be  a  lasting  and  a  good  one.  Just  at 
present,  though,  Sargent  did  not  place  a  definite 
estimate  on  the  circumstance.  He  was  too  busy 
with  his  garb. 

Not  far  away,  Maxon,  as  the  conqueror  of  such  a 
man  as  Sargent,  was  receiving,  with  becoming 
modesty,  the  acclamations  of  his  classmates,  prop- 
erly due  to  a  champion  so  notable. 

And  the  sun  dried  the  combatants  for  a  long  half 
hour,  until  class  time  came  to  all  again  and  they 
entered  the  recitation  rooms,  still  steaming.  The 
professors  made  no  comment.  Not  theirs  to  regu- 


30  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

late  the  bathing  times  of  their  pupils,  and,  as  one  of 
them  commented: 

"Who  knoweth  the  way  of  the  wild  ass,  his  com- 
ing or  his  going?  Lo,  all  the  desert  is  his  path- 
way!" 


AS    TO    ANALYTICAL    GEOMETRY.  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AS  TO  ANALYTICAL  GEOMETRY. 

A  young  gentleman  with  sandy  hair,  gray  eyes 
and  square  forehead  stood  beside  the  wall  of  one  of 
the  University  buildings,  holding  the  end  of  a  base- 
ball bat  against  it  at  an  angle  and  making  an 
explanation  in  ponderous  colloquial  terms.  There 
was  a  twinkle  in  the  eyes  of  the  thick-set  gentleman 
as  he  talked,  for,  though  a  student  of  more  than 
average  ability,  he  had  never  shone  particularly 
resplendent  in  pure  mathematics,  and  now,  after 
long  study,  he  had  solved  the  problem  of  the  "Shad- 
ing of  the  Sphere"  and  was  not  merely  confident 
that  he  could  face  recitation  without  a  tremor,  but 
that  he  understood  the  subject  so  thoroughly  that 
he  could  make  it  comprehensible  to  those  of  his 
classmates  to  whom  had  come  less  light.  In  the 
course  of  his  remarks  he  would  occasionally  assume 
a  heavy  air  and  imitate  for  the  moment  the  voice  of 
the  professor,  but  the  real  object  of  the  talk  was 
serious,  and,  though  there  crept  into  the  explanation 
a  certain  amount  of  slang,  there  was  an  absence  of 
abstruse  phrases  and  the  lesson  was  possibly  more 
comprehensible  to  the  listeners  than  one  from  the 
lips  of  a  wiser  man. 

"You hold  the  bat  so,"  the  amateur  pedagogue  ex- 
plained, "and  you  see  how  the  shadow  strikes  the 


32  THE    LAUNCHING    OP    A   MAN. 

wall,  (Eastwood,  if  you  don't  keep  still,  I'll  swat  you 
with  the  bat)  and  you'll  suppose  a  sphere  in  the  prop- 
er place,  and  suppose  a  lot  of  other  things  of  which  I 
shall  assure  you."  Then,  taking  a  piece  of  chalk 
from  his  pocket,  Mayo  made  various  straight  lines 
and  curves  upon  the  wall,  and  made  also  certain 
figures  and  equations,  pausing  only  to  indulge  in  a 
magnificent  anathema  against  all  things  geometrical 
and  all  things  algebraical.  Grotesque  as  was  his 
manner,  he  certainly  understood  his  subject,  and 
there  was  a  sigh  of  relief  from  more  than  one  who 
had  worked  during  the  long  hours  of  evening  and 
early  morning  as  they  perceived  the  missing  link  in 
what  had  been  their  chain  of  reasoning.  Analytical 
Geometry  is  certainly  a  terror  to  those  whom  Provi- 
dence has  not  gifted  with  the  art  of  following  the 
foggy  track  from  conclusion  back  to  premise. 

Among  the  beneficiaries  of  Mayo's  address  were 
Sargent  and  Lathrop,  and  each  blessed  himself  that 
he  had  chanced  upon  the  scene.  Neither  had  set 
out  for  the  class  room  prepared  for  recitation, 
though  there  had  been  hard  study  the  night  before 
and  almost  a  feeling,  when  the  two  young  men 
sought  their  beds,  that  they  had  solved  the  mystery 
of  the  equation  upon  which  they  would  be  ques- 
tioned. The  morning  found  them  less  confident, 
and  they  had  come  from  their  rooms  not  joyously, 
as  to  a  banquet,  but  with  much  fear  of  disaster. 
The  explanation  of  Mayo's  had  opened  their  eyes, 
and  when  recitation  came  they  survived  its  trials 
easily. 

The  case  of  the  two  young  men  was  one  by  no 


AS    TO    ANALYTICAL    GEOMETRY.  33 

means  unusual  among  collegians.  They,  both  of 
them,  were  pursuing  among'  their  studies  some 
which  were  uncongenial,  and  lack  of  interest  in 
these  had  resulted  in  such  perfunctory  work  as 
must,  in  the  end,  bring  with  it  disaster  to  the 
student.  Mathematics  is  the  most  jealous  of  all 
mistresses.  Her  angular  face,  corkscrew  curls  and 
unyielding  moods  are,  in  the  opinion  of  that  lady, 
of  sufficient  attractiveness  to  command  the  undivided 
affection  of  all  wooers,  and  those  who  are  not 
ardent  soon  find  her  not  at  home  whenever  they 
may  call.  They  may  linger  round  the  portal  long, 
but  stern  conditions  must  be  fulfilled  before  they 
are  again  admitted  to  her  circle.  As  for  Sargent 
and  Lathrop,  they  had  for  months  discarded  hope  of 
obtaining  any  honorable  standing  in  this  study. 
They  had  so  fallen  behind  that  each  felt  that,  to 
retain  even  his  place  in  class,  he  must  make 
thorough  much  past  work  that  had  been  slurred 
over. 

The  popularity  of  the  two  men  had  made  what 
Lathrop  called  their  "decadence"  easy.  When  first 
the  waters  had  become  too  deep  for  them,  when, 
because  of  laxity  of  effort,  they  found  themselves 
behind  the  majority  of  their  fellows  in  the  studies 
they*  did  not  like,  there  had  been  ready  and  clever 
assistance  from  the  well-informed,  and  for  a  time 
all  had  gone  well,  upon  the  surface.  But  no  man 
can  be  carried  more  than  about  so  far  in  college 
recitations  upon  the  shoulders  of  others.  He  must 
have  within  himself  some  relative  knowledge,  at 
least,  of  the  task  to  be  performed.  Sargent  and 


34  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A   MAN. 

Lathrop  had  lagged  so  far  behind  that  upon  some 
occasions  they  had  failed  in  making  a  good  showing, 
even  with  the  assistance  of  learned  and  good-natured 
classmates.  The  explanations  became  as  Hebrew 
to  them,  and  they  were  in  a  bad  way.  In  his  heart 
of  hearts,  each  felt  that  he  had  been  a  laggard  and 
each  felt  also  some  slight  prickings  of  conscience, 
which,  for  a  sophomore,  is  saying  much. 

Of  Sargent  there  is  one  thing  to  be  said  in 
extenuation  of  his  present  attitude.  The  classes  in 
the  literary  department  of  the  University  were  at 
that  time  divided  arbitrarily  into  two  sections,  the 
Classical  and  the  Scientific,  and  he,  though  he  had 
prepared  for  the  first,  had  become  a  student  in  the 
second.  He  had  made  the  change,  doubtless  un- 
wisely, but  there  had  come  upon  him,  just  before  his 
admission  to  the  University,  a  vanity  or  ambition, 
whichever  it  may  be  called,  to  shine  in  all  studies 
alike,  and  he  chose  the  course  in  which  he  felt  him- 
self the  weaker.  Impelled  by  a  somewhat  boyish 
confidence  and  loftiness,  he  did  not  realize  the 
magnitude  of  the  work  he  had  taken  upon  himself 
and  now  he  was  suffering  the  consequences.  The 
change,  though,  was  destined  to  affect  decidedly  his 
future,  and  not,  in  the  end,  to  his  disadvantage. 
On  the  night  after  the  "Shading  of  the  Sphere" 
demonstration  the  two  men  worked  resolutely.  The 
narrow  escape  had  taught  each  the  necessity  for  a 
spurt. 

"What  time  is  it?"  said  Sargent,  pushing  from  him 
books  and  papers,  and  laying  his  head  on  his  arms 
as  he  leaned  upon  the  table. 


AS    TO    ANALYTICAL    GEOMETRY.  35 

"Two  o'clock, "  answered  Lathrop  wearily.  "The 
light  is  going  out.  We  may  as  well  try  to  get  some 
sleep." 

In  the  darkness  the  talk  continued,  for  the  nerves 
of  neither  man  could  be  calmed  to  sleep  now,  after 
many  hours  of  clutching,  unavailing  brain  activity 
without  any  real  success  of  comprehension,  or  even 
apprehension  as  a  reward. 

"It  is  inhuman,  by  Jove!"  Sargent  declared.  "I 
have  a  mind  to  give  up — only  that  would  be  cowardly 
— but  I  feel  like  a  sneak,  anyway,  what  with  'coach- 
ing' and  'ponying'  and  all  that!" 

"When  I  think  of  the  folks  at  home, "  returned 
Lathrop  moodily,  "I  get  savage.  What  would  they 
say  if  they  knew  of  the  straits  I  am  in  to  pass  this 
examination  in  mathematics?  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  it!" 

"Well,"  Sargent  sighed  as  he  spoke,  "if  it  weren't 
for  father — and — well,  mother  too — they  have  both 
worked  hard  to  send  me  here — if  it  weren't  for 
them,  I  would  drop  the  whole  thing  this  minute, 
fail  to-morrow,  and  be  miserably  happy  over  it.  As 
it  is  I  am  going  on  like  a  sneak  for  their  sakes ;  but, 
once  out  of  this  scrape,  you  may  be  sure  I'll  never 
get  into  such  another.  Next  year — that  is  if  I  go  on 
next  year — I  am  going  to  work  as  I  haven't  worked 
yet,  and  I'm  not  going  to  get  into  such  a  hole 
again. ' ' 

"That's  just  it,"  groaned  Lathrop.  "Let  me  go 
home  this  time,  and  I'll  never — " 

But  the  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  Sargent, 
eager  to  think  and  talk  upon  a  more  cheerful  sub- 


36  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

ject,  or  not  talk  at  all,  gave  his  chum  a  poke  in  the 
region  of  the  ribs  which  created  instant  diversion. 
The  two  fell  to  the  floor  together  and  in  a  minute 
arose,  refreshed  and  invigorated,  after  a  hearty 
trial  of  muscular  strength. 

The  poor  fellows  were  tormented  as  by  fiends 
over  the  end  of  the  year's  examinations.  While 
they  were  sure  of  passing  creditably  in  most 
branches  of  study  they  were  both  marked  by  them- 
selves and  their  intimates  for  a  slump  in  mathe- 
matics. They  were  making  the  last  desperate 
struggle  to  "pass"  somehow  in  this  study,  by  the 
help  of  friendly  counsel,  instruction  and  labored 
explanation  from  Mayo,  who  was  proving  now  a 
genius  in  this  direction,  and  by  frantic  exertions  to 
"make  up"  for  past  heedlessness  and  preoccupation 
in  class  and  study  room.  There  were  two  scared 
fellows  up  there  in  that  little  bare  room  where 
Sargent  and  Lathrop  passed  their  hours  of  study  or 
of  leisure — few  enough  there  were  of  either.  They 
were  both  laughing  now,  but  not  untroubled.  After 
their  tiger-cat  roll  on  the  floor  the  two  fellows 
tumbled  into  bed  to  try  to  sleep  until  daylight,  but 
sleep  was  laggard  in  its  coming. 

"I  wouldn't  care  if  I  could  see  any  use  in  the 
whole  confounded  business,"  broke  out  Lathrop, 
after  a  few  moments'  silence.  "What  do  I  want — 
what  do  you  want  to  know  of  the  manner  in  which 
lights  or  shades  fall  as  represented  by  some  harrow- 
ing equation?  What  do  I  care  where  a  light  falls  or 
a  strain  comes  as  related  by  'X'  and  'Y',  or  about 
the  'steenth  'power'  of  anything?  I  tell  you  the 


AS    TO    ANALYTICAL    GEOMETRY.  37 

old  Inquisition  wasn't  in  it  with  'X'  and  'Y'.  They 
could  give  Torquemada  and  all  his  'Familiars' 
points.  The  only  decent  thing  I  know  of  about  'X' 
and  1Y'  is  that  they  have  the  grace  to  fall  in  down 
close  to  the  tail  end  of  the  alphabet.  There's 
where  they  belong.  May  witches  fly  away  with 
them!" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Sargent,  "I'm  with  you 
in  your  noble  emotion;  but  there's  something  to  the 
blundering  grind.  There's  something  in  getting 
one's  brain  under  subjection,  one's  imagination 
harnessed  to  the  indefinable  and  abstract,  and  all  of 
a  fellow's  personal  thoughts  and  feelings  submerged. 
There's  something  in  it,  and  I  wish  I  had  the 
benefit  of  it  and  had  been  less  absorbed  in  the  stiff 
life  we've  been  living  this  last  year. ' ' 

"Just  give  me  another  chance,"  chimed  in  Lath- 
rop,  "and  see  if  I  don't  get  hold  of  things!" 

"If  I  only  knew  which  particular  torture  would  be 
applied  to  me  to-morrow" — Sargent  was  weakening 
again,  as  his  voice  showed — "I  could  have  some 
hope.  As  it  is,  anything,  or  many  things,  may 
come,  and  of  course  the  very  worst  of  'em  all  will 
come.  Was  that  candle  burned  clear  out?" 

"Oh!  lie  still,  we've  no  light,  sleep  until  day- 
light." 

The  first  streak  of  dawn  found  the  two  over  their 
table  again,  and  sunrise  showed  them  there  still,  a 
harassed  pair  of  young  giants,  not  without  hope, 
but  distinctly  faint-hearted. 

There  was  ardent  and  hurried  work  in  the  morn- 
ing, for  the  two  students  had  omitted  the  night 


38  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

before  those  studies  in  which  they  were  best 
grounded,  but  of  these  they  had  no  apprehension. 
In  them  they  were  well  under  way  and  no  little 
interested,  and  they  were  soon  prepared.  A  resump- 
tion of  work  on  the  unpleasant  feature  convinced 
them  that  they  were  letter-perfect,  so  far  as  that 
went,  if  not  fully  comprehending.  They  made  a 
vast  resolve  that  day,  after  stumbling  through  the 
lesson  in  rather  better  style  than  usual,  that  they 
would  not  only  work  later  at  night — the  afternoons, 
or  at  best  the  later  portion  of  each  afternoon  they 
still  reserved  for  out-of-door  sport — but  that  they 
would  also  rise  an  hour  earlier  each  morning  and 
devote  that  hour  to  the  subjugation  of  the  monster. 
This  was  a  glorious  resolution,  but  one  hard  of 
fulfillment,  for  they  slept  well,  these  two,  and  the 
cool  mornings  made  the  bed  a  delicious  place.  But 
they  were  firmly  resolved  and  made  a  Spartan  con- 
tract together,  one  which  had  a  tendency  to  make 
their  design  successful.  They  agreed  solemnly  that 
if  either  of  the  two  were  not  out  of  bed  by  six  a.  in. 
the  other,  if  outside  that  blissful  haven,  should 
have  the  privilege  of  emptying  the  water  pitcher 
over  his  sleeping  friend.  That  night  each,  after 
retiring,  fixed  his  thoughts  resolutely  upon  the  hour 
of  half-past  five,  for  each  had  read  much  of  and 
occasionally  tried  to  practice  this  particular  feat  of 
making  the  bodily  senses  respond  in  time  to  the 
command  of  a  fixed  idea.  They  slept  soundly  until 
a  little  before  five  o'clock,  when  Sargent  awoke 
with  a  start,  and,  as  his  reasoning  powers  returned, 
exulted  with  the  sense  of  keen  delight  in  the  sound 


AS    TO    ANALYTICAL    GEOMETRY.  39 

of  heavy,  even  breathing,  from  the  figure  in  the 
other  bed. 

"It's  six  o'clock,  and  I've  got  him!"  he  thought, 
joyously,  and  his  eyes  turned  to  the  little  clock 
ticking  industriously  upon  the  mantel.  The  hands 
showed  the  time  to  be  five,  exactly,  and  Sargent 
gave  a  sigh  of  disappointment.  "I  set  myself  an 
hour  too  early,"  he  muttered,  and  lay  back  drowsily 
upon  his  pillow,  resolved  to  keep  awake.  The  bed 
was  warm,  though,  the  light  was  yet  dim,  and  lazy 
nature  asserted  herself.  Within  ten  minutes  the 
plotter  was  asleep  again,  dreaming  of  his  home  and 
friends,  of  good  times  in  town  and  finer  enjoyment 
still  in  the  deep  woods  and  along  the  streams,  with 
dog  and  rod  and  gun,  and  no  professors.  As  he 
wandered  through  the  forest  he  reached  a  stream 
much  deeper  than  the  rest,  and,  though  it  was  early 
in  the  autumn,  great  cakes  of  ice  were  floating 
with  its  current.  Suddenly  the  bank  gave  way 
beneath  him  and  he  was  plunged  into  the  icy 
waters. 

Scientific  students  of  th&  mind  say  that  dreams 
come  instantaneously,  sometimes  a  series  of  inci- 
dents in  a  second,  as  the  result  of  some  outside 
agency. 

Lathrop  had  slept  calmly  until  nearly  six,  when 
he  moved  restlessly  in  his  bed  and  seemed  combat- 
ing some  impulse  which  assailed  him.  Finally,  his 
eyes  opened  and  he  lay  still,  seeking  dreamily  to 
realize  his  own  entity.  Then,  like  a  flash,  came 
comprehension  and  memory  of  the  agreement  of  the 
night  before.  He  rose  cautiously  upon  his  elbow 


4»  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

and  looked  across  at  Sargent,  who  was  sleeping  like 
a  baby,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face.  He  looked  at 
the  clock;  the  hands  showed  the  time  to  be  just  one 
minute  after  six. 

Slowly  and  noiselessly,  Lathrop  slid  from  his  bed 
and  tiptoed  across  the  room  to  the  table  where  the 
water-pitcher  stood.  He  noticed  that  the  sharp 
frost  of  the  night  before  had  formed  upon  the 
water's  surface  feathery  cone-shaped  flakes  of  ice 
reaching  toward  each  other,  and  his  heart  was  glad 
within  him.  Silently  he  grasped  the  pitcher  and 
silently  approached  the  bedside  of  his  sleeping 
friend.  He  stood  there  a  moment,  'looking  down 
benignantly  upon  his  unconscious  victim,  and  then 
began  carefully  the  delicate  task  of  turning  down 
the  bed  clothes.  The  work  required  time  as  well  as 
the  exercise  of  utmost  caution,  but  was  at  last 
accomplished.  Then,  with  cruel  and  deliberate 
accuracy,  the  healthy  wretch  plumped  the  whole 
contents  of  the  huge  pitcher  upon  the  breast  and 
stomach  of  his  chosen  friend,  at  the  same  time 
giving  utterance  to  a  whoop  specially  adapted  for 
the  raising  of  the  dead. 

There  was  an  answering  yell,  if  possible  more 
piercing  and  far-reaching  than  the  one  preceding  it, 
and  Sargent  was  uplifted  clean  over  the  bedside  by 
the  unconscious  springing  of  his  shocked  body.  He 
gasped,  staggered  to  his  feet  and  stood  looking 
wildly  about.  Never  had  human  being  been 
awakened  more  ruthlessly.  He  recovered  his  wits, 
dashed  at  the  roaring  Lathrop,  who  wisely  eluded 
him  for  the  time,  and  then  peace  came  and  the  two 


AS   TO    ANALYTICAL   GEOMETRY.  41 

men  dressed  and  went  sturdily  at  the  work  they 
had  planned  the  night  before. 

In  a  few  days  the  new  rising  hour  became  a  habit 
with  them  and  brought  its  good  results.  The  cost 
of  the  dousing  episode  was  two  dollars,  paid  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  accompanied  by  a  lame  story 
of  an  accident. 


42  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  GREAT  BALL  GAME. 

The  reddened  leaves  had  turned  to  brown  and 
were  falling.  The  green  had  disappeared  from  the 
fields,  and  the  base-ball  season  of  the  year  was  very 
near  the  end.  It  was  before  the  time  of  college 
leagues,  but  the  year  had  been  one  of  triumph  for 
the  University  nine.  Many  a  gallant  club  had  gone 
down  before  them,  and  the  state  championship 
seemed,  to  the  more  sanguine,  a  glory  possibly 
attainable.  But  one  club  stood  in  their  way,  the 
great  club  of  the  leading  city  of  the  state ;  and  in 
contest  with  this  antagonist,  one  game  of  the  series 
had,  so  far,  been  lost  humiliatingly,  while  another 
had  been  won  by  the  slightest  of  margins.  The 
score  of  the  clubs  stood  even,  and  it  but  remained 
to  play  the  last  game  of  the  year  to  determine  where 
the  laurels  for  the  state  must  go.  The  University 
nine  had  steadily  improved — Sargent  felt  sure  of 
that — but  their  opponents  were  a  dangerous  lot, 
athletic  veterans  and  a  city's  pride,  and  the  idea  had 
existed  that  even  the  one  game  won  from  them  by 
so  slight  an  overlap  was  the  result  of  accident  rather 
than  desert.  But  there  was  hopefulness  in  the 
nine,  and  daily  the  lithe  young  players  practiced 
until  they  were,  they  believed,  in  such  excellent  con- 


THE    GREAT    BALL    GAME.  43 

dition  as  they  had  never  been  in  before.  There 
were  men  for  an  emergency  among  them. 

The  morning  of  the  day  of  the  great  game  opened 
in  a  manner  declared  by  an  enthusiast  among  the 
turbulent  excursionists  as  ' '  luridly  promising. ' ' 
At  least  two  hundred  students  were  to  accompany 
the  ball  players  on  the  trip,  and  they  gathered  at  the 
railroad  station  joyously.  There  was  much  clamor, 
which  increased  as  the  moment  arrived  for  the 
advent  of  the  players  themselves,  who  were  to 
appear  just  before  train  time,  in  full  uniform  and  in 
a  band  chariot  rented  from  the  chief  liveryman  of 
the  town  on  all  allowable  occasions  of  student  state. 
Much  income  accrued  to  that  same  liveryman  from 
that  same  gaudy  chariot,  for  there  was  a  disposition 
among  the  students  to  utilize  its  splendors  whenever 
the  slightest  excuse  offered.  As  the  nine  were 
driven  up  to  the  station,  broad-shouldered,  brown- 
faced,  all  grinning  amiably  while  grotesquely  assum- 
ing a  lofty  demeanor,  the  air  was  shattered  by  a 
wild  impact  of  applause,  and  the  pets  of  the  under- 
graduates were  dragged  from  their  conveyance  and 
escorted  to  the  parlor  coach  amid  prolonged  and 
blissful  howlings.  "We  must  keep  their  spirits  up, ' ' 
declared  Billy  Barnes,  "coz  there's  going  to  be 
Greeks  meetin'  Greeks,  and  they  mustn't  be  shy  on 
ginger!  Oh,  no." 

The  train  rumbled  from  the  station,  the  college 
yell  ascended,  and,  with  college  songs  and  shouts 
and  waving  of  flags,  the  country  of  little  lakes  and 
great  apple  orchards  and  far  stretches  of  stubble- 
field  was  passed  and  the  train  drew  near  the  City  of 


44  THE    LAUNCHING    OP   A   MAN. 

the  Straits,  where  were  awaiting  them  at  the 
grounds  a  trained  and  hardy  nine  and  a  multitude  of 
lovers  of  base-ball,  the  latter  all  earnest  admirers  of 
the  home  nine  and  looking  upon  the  invading  col- 
legians as  foolhardy  youth  whose  accidental  late 
success  had  made  them  vain,  and  to  whom  humilia- 
tion at  the  end  of  the  season  would  be  wholesome 
and  beneficial. 

Entrance  to  the  city  was  accompanied  by  an  inci- 
dent most  spirited  and  sanguinary.  At  this  time 
the  hackmen  of  the  town  were  noted  far  and  wide 
for  their  rapacity  and  impudence.  They  would  sur- 
round a  traveler,  take  his  baggage  from  him  by  main 
strength,  carry  him  captive  to  some  hotel  and  inflict 
an  outrageous  charge,  which  he  paid  under  sheer 
intimidation.  As  the  advance  guard  of  the  students 
issued  upon  the  pavement  from  the  city  station  a 
burly  Jehu  rushed  up  to  the  quiet  Mayo,  who  was 
not  in  uniform,  and  who  was  carrying  a  handbag, 
and,  to  the  collegian's  amazement,  caught  the  bag 
from  his  hand,  and  then,  seizing  him  by  the 
shoulders,  began  hustling  him  toward  a  hack  stand- 
ing at  the  curb.  In  vain  Mayo  protested ;  the  hack- 
man  was  determined,  but  never  hackman  committed 
a  greater  blunder !  There  was  a  swift  wrench  aside, 
a  terrific  blow  beneath  the  ear,  and  the  hackman 
went  over  under  as  clean  a  stroke  as  ever  felled  a 
man.  Never  had  such  a  thing  occurred  in  all  the 
history  of  the  drivers  about  the  station.  With  a 
shout,  they  hurled  themselves  upon  the  daring 
Mayo,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  lost  to  sight  among 
them.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  though.  The 


THE    GREAT    BALL    GAME.  45 

hackmen  did  not  know  what  awful  reinforcements 
were  at  hand.  There  was  a  rallying  cry,  a  rush  of 
the  students  now  pouring  out  by  scores,  and  a 
moment  later  there  were  no  hackmen  to  be  seen 
near  that  railway  station,  except  such  as  were  in  dis- 
tress and  gory  in  a  nasal  way. 

"Borne  down,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en, 
They  cumbered  Bannock's  bloody  plain." 

Pursuing  their  triumphant  way,  the  students 
reached  the  ball-grounds  and  entered  with  such 
hilarious  deportment  as  students  manifest  on  such 
occasions.  From  the  already  thronged  benches  went 
up  mingled  cries  of  applause  and  derision.  The 
players  went  to  their  dressing  rooms,  the  remainder 
of  the  students  gathered  in  a  mass  in  the  seating- 
space  reserved  for  them,  the  nines  finally  appeared 
upon  the  field,  the  umpire  gave  his  loud  order  and 
the  game  was  on ! 

It  is  more  or  less  difficult  to  describe,  so  that  the 
layman  may  understand,  the  phases  of  a  base-ball 
game,  what  the  players  do,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  the  story  of  this  great  game  should  not  be  told 
in  detail  and  in  the  right  way,  because  it  was  a  battle 
of  giants  of  the  game  and  time.  There  are,  in  the 
ordinary  base -ball  game,  nine  innings,  and  the  one 
force  or  the  other  which  is  in  the  lead  at  the  end  of 
the  nine  innings,  is  the  victor.  In  this  game, 
which,  for  the  year,  determined  supremacy  in 
the  northern  part  of  the  Middle  West,  there  were 
played  eleven  innings,  before  the  issue  was 


46  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

decided,  so  closely  matched  were  the  athletic 
forces. 

The  exploits  of  the  individuals  of  the  University 
nine  cannot  possibly  be  told  within  the  space  of  a 
single  chapter,  nor  can  justice  be  done  to  their 
opponents.  Base-ball  in  those  days  of  only  a  few 
years  ago  was  quite  unlike  the  game  of  the  pro- 
fessionals played  to-day.  Greater  scores  were  made 
then  and  there  was  more  of  the  spectacular.  This 
is  because  the  rules  have  changed.  In  any  of  all 
the  base-ball  clubs  of  all  the  country  there  are  no 
keener  eyes,  no  deeper  lungs,  no  better  judgment 
nor  better  muscle  than  were  owned  by  the  players  in 
this  strong  game,  though  its  score  to-day  reads 
oddly.  At  the  end  of  the  first  inning  it  stood: 
University  7,  City  o.  In  the  second  inning  there 
was  some  clever  work  by  the  townsmen,  and  at  its 
end  the  score  stood  University  7,  City  i.  In  the 
third  inning  the  playing  was  wild  and  brilliant  on 
both  sides,  and  then  the  score  stood  University  10, 
City  2,  and  in  the  next  was  scarcely  changed,  the 
University  adding  the  single  run. 

In  the  next  inning  developed  the  strength  of  the 
urbanites ;  it  was  a  hard  fight  well  fought  and  there 
was  brilliant  playing  all  round,  but  the  City  added  4 
to  its  tally,  while  the  University  did  nothing,  and  in 
the  sixth  the  scene  was  but  repeated.  The  score 
stood  now  University  n,  City  8.  The  next  inning 
added  3  to  the  score  of  each ;  then  came  wild  play- 
ing and  brilliant  individual  work.  Some  faint  idea 
of  what  happened,  the  University  standing  19  and 
the  City  17,  at  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  and  sup- 


THE    GREAT    BALL    GAME.  47 

posedly  final  inning,  may  be  inferred  from  an 
account  here  faithfully  reproduced  from  an  edition, 
some  weeks  later,  of  the  University  paper,  pub- 
lished by  the  students : 

' '  The  excitement  was  intense.  Cheers  and  groans, 
yells  of  triumph  and  curses  of  despair  were  heard 
all  over  the  grounds  as  the  playing  of  the  ninth 
innings  went  on.  Now  the  City  captain  conies  up 
to  the  scorer's  table:  'How  does  the  score  stand?' 
'Twenty  to  seventeen.'  'Three  to  tie  and  four  to 
beat.  We'll  do  it— we'll  do  it  easy.'" 

Then  came  another  struggle,  and  the  City  men 
did  well,  for,  at  the  end  of  the  ninth  inning  the 
score  stood:  University  20,  City  20,  and  there  must 
be  another  inning.  To  quote  again  from  the  Uni- 
versity publication:  "Now  the  work  is  sharp  and 
short — the  friends  of  the  contesting  nines  at  one 
moment  dancing,  yelling,  throwing  their  hats  for 
joy,  and  at  the  next,  with  lugubrious  faces,  sitting 
in  the  depths  of  despair.  .  .  .  One  tally  beats  the 
University,  high  into  the  air  goes  the  ball,  holding 
its  course  close  to  the  foul  line  toward  the  left.  What 
a  cheer  greets  the  successful  batter  as  he  strains 
every  muscle  for  the  home !  But  other  eyes  see  the 
ball  not  at  all,  they  are  gazing  at  the  white  figure 
running  with  inconceivable  rapidity  across  the  field. 
At  length  the  lines  of  vision  of  the  City  men  and  of 
the  University  men  meet  as  the  high  fly  drops  into 
Mayo's  hands.  Full  fifty  yards  he  runs  and  then 
takes  the  ball  almost  at  his  feet.  What  a  yell  of 
triumph  from  the  University  men.  Again  it  is  a  tie. 
Then  came  the  struggle  Titanic."  And  the  Uni- 


48  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

versity  journal,  even  in  its  exuberance  of  spirits,  did 
not  much  exaggerate.  The  inning  to  follow  must 
be  a  test. 

Then  happened,  for  a  longer  time  than  is  required 
for  the  ball  games  of  to-day,  what  was  excellent  to 
see.  The  University  nine  was  of  the  college  athletic 
sort,  which  simply  means  clean,  well-built  young 
gentlemen  who  have  practiced  vigorously  a  certain 
sport,  and  who,  in  a  straight-away  manner,  came 
into  a  strange  land  free  as  gladiators  to  do  their 
best.  What  they  did  that  day  is  part  of  the  inside 
and  outside  records  of  a  great  University.  The 
story  of  that  contest  has  been  told  and  re-told  many 
a  thousand  times.  It  has  been  told  in  the  University 
over  and  over  again  as  one  of  its  sagas.  It  has  been 
told  where  the  men  live  who  were  there  that  day, 
men  who  have  since  bred  children,  and  have  aided 
in  making  the  greatest  commonwealth  of  all  history. 
It  has  been  told  from  sea  to  sea. 

It  had  been  a  tie  in  the  ninth  inning,  a  tie  in  the 
tenth  inning,  and  in  the  eleventh  all  depended  at 
the  final  stage,  after  none  had  been  made  by  the 
City,  upon  what  the  captain  of  the  University  nine, 
who  chanced  to  be  then  at  the  bat,  did  in  the  great 
emergency.  It  was  worth  while  looking  at  him 
then.  He  was  nervous  and  his  hands  shook  until 
they  picked  up  the  ashen  thing,  the  bat,  fit  thing 
for  a  strong  man's  hands  to  clasp.  Then  he  seemed 
to  forget  his  nervousness.  He  became  another 
man.  He  stood  poised,  keen-eyed,  virile,  tense,  an 
expectancy  of  muscle  with  mind  in  it,  as  the  ball,  a 
flashing  mist,  came.  He  struck  once  and  missed. 


THE    GREAT    BALL    GAME.  49 

He  seemed  dazed  a  little,  but  set  his  teeth.  The 
shadow  flitted  again,  and  again  he  missed.  Then 
his  face  whitened  a  little  and  the  muscles  and  veins 
stood  out  well  where  the  bat  was  clasped.  The 
pitcher,  big,  steady  of  nerve,  and  fine,  sent  another 
twisting,  invisible  sphere  toward  the  man  at  the 
bat,  and  the  man,  this  thing  of  muscle  and  thought, 
seemed  to  spring  all  apart  as  he  struck  with  the 
home-stroke. 

There  was  a  crack  as  when  lightning  has  struck 
something.  There  was  an  upward-looking  of  all 
eyes.  Upon  a  great  green  enclosed  sward,  men, 
out-fielders,  were  running  like  "whiteheads" — 
whatever  a  "whitehead"  may  be.  Between  the 
bases  other  men  were  running.  The  audience  of 
thousands  was  composed  no  longer  of  anything  in 
particular.  It  was  a  bawl!  And,  when  the  roar 
slackened  for  a  moment,  high  above  everything 
could  be  heard  the  ear-piercing  squall  of  Billy 
Barnes,  and  his  cry:  "This  is  a  red-letter  day  to  be 
marked  with  a  white  stone!"  No  effort  of  the 
experts  could  save  the  city.  The  University  had 
won! 

At  six  o'clock,  or  later,  that  evening,  among  the 
surging  crowd  of  hundreds  of  students  who  came 
down  the  main  street  of  the  city  on  their  way  to  the 
train,  was  one,  young,  slender,  dark-eyed,  red- 
haired  and  with  a  wonderful  keenness  of  perception 
in  his  look.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  tiny  bundle  of 
straws.  As  he  met  some  solid,  middle-aged  citizen 
of  the  town  he  would  suddenly  grasp  that  more  or 
less  venerable  personage  by  the  shoulder,  thrust 


5°  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

the  straws  almost  in  his  face  and  demand  impera- 
tively: 

"What's  them?" 

The  maltreated  and  astonished  citizen  could  but 
gasp  and  look  bewildered,  but  relief  came  to  him 
at  once : 

"You  don't  know!  You  think  they're  straws! 
Well,  I'll  tell  you,  them's  runs!" 

And  so  the  jubilant  young  man  with  his  hand 
holding  the  straws  corresponding  exactly  in  number 
to  the  runs  the  University  had  made  swept  down 
with  his  comrades  to  the  depot. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  collegians. 


CLOSE    TO    A    PROFESSOR.  51 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CLOSE  TO  A  PROFESSOR. 

The  snow  lay  deep  upon  the  ground  one  day  in 
late  winter  as  Robert  Sargent  took  his  way  north- 
westward from  the  University  buildings  toward  the 
chief  entrance  to  the  campus.  His  recitations  for 
the  day  were  done,  and  he  was  not  dissatisfied  with 
them.  It  was  rather  with  himself  that  he  was  not 
content.  The  season  of  out-door  sports  long  past, 
his  attention  had  been  more  concentrated  upon  his 
studies  and  his  prospects;  though  he  may  have 
worked  with  no  more  earnestness  than  before;  and 
his  thoughts  had  more  reference  to  the  future  and 
to  the  reasons  which  led  him  to  the  University  at  all 
— for  the  opportunity  had  suddenly,  and  through  his 
father's  influence,  been  afforded  him  of  entering  an 
active  business  life  with  no  more  learning  than  had 
been  gained  at  the  high  school.  He  had  chosen  the 
collegiate  course,  though  it  had  involved  something 
of  a  sacrifice  on  his  father's  part,  and  now  he 
wondered  if  it  were  worth  while.  Had  he  chosen 
wisely?  Would  the  finer  education  he  was  seeking 
bring  return  sufficient  to  repay  him  for  all  the 
travail  of  the  present?  Was  he  really  gaining  learn- 
ing of  the  sort  which  would  give  him  an  advantage 
in  the  coming  struggle  with  the  world?  He  dis- 
trusted himself.  His  course  would  fit  him  for  some 


52  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

such  work  as  engineering,  but,  save  that  it  promised 
longer  hours  out-of-doors  and  a  life  of  robust 
exercise,  he  did  not  greatly  fancy  the  occupation. 
As  an  offset,  he  really  enjoyed  his  French,  and  his 
English  Literature.  He  enjoyed  the  studies,  first, 
because  his  tastes  ran  naturally  in  such  direction1, 
and  more  because  the  professor  of  English  Litera- 
ture had  that  rare  understanding  which  so  many 
great  scholars  and  teachers  lack,  an  insight  into 
human  nature  and  a  keen  perception  of  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  natural  gifts  and  inclinations  and 
ambitions  of  those  so  fortunate  as  to  come  under  his 
tutelage.  He  was  of  such  quality  himself  that  he 
was  loved  as  have  been  teachers  more  famous,  for 
he  did  not  live  to  attain  his  full  fame.  Even  at  this 
time,  consumption  had  selected  him  as  one  of  its 
victims,  and,  though  he,  seemingly,  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  disease,  there  was  a  flush  upon  his 
cheeks,  made  more  apparent  by  the  general  pale- 
ness of  his  face,  and  sometimes  a  sudden,  weary 
leaning  of  the  head  upon  the  hand  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk  during  recitations. 

Robert  Sargent  was  walking  slowly  along  the 
snowy  path,  deep  in  the  puzzle  of  his  own  future, 
when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  step  behind  him,  and 
then  the  salutation : 

4 '  It  is  as  pleasant  as  it  is  cold  to-day,  Sargent. ' ' 

The  young  man  turned  and  recognized  the  pro- 
fessor of  English  Literature,  and  then  the  two 
walked  side  by  side,  the  younger  rather  pleased  at 
the  attention  paid  him. 

"How  are  you  getting  along?     Are  you  satisfied 


CLOSE    TO   A    PROFESSOR.  53 

with  what  is  coming  to  you  at  the  University?"  said 
Professor  Curtin. 

Sargent  hesitated  a  little,  and  the  professor 
noticed  it.  "I'm  doing  reasonably  well,  I  sup- 
pose," was  the  answer  which  came,  finally,  "but  I 
wish  I  were  better  in  some  things.  I'm  not — not 
quite  satisfied  with  my  selection  of  a  course.  To 
tell  the  truth,  sir,  I  think  sometimes  that  I've  made 
a  mistake." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Why,  you  see,  I  prepared  for  the  Classical  course 
and  for  the  Scientific  too.  It  was  a  good  school 
which  I  attended.  Then,  when  I  entered  the  Uni- 
versity, after  thinking  over  the  possible  openings 
which  there  would  be  for  me  after  leaving,  I  went 
into  the  Scientific  section.  I  can  get  work  at  once  if 
I  become  an  engineer,  but  if  I  study  with  anything 
like  literature  or  law  in  view,  I  shall  find  myself 
embarrassed  when  I  graduate.  The  only  thing  I 
can  do  is  to  take  a  school  and  teach  somewhere,  and 
that  would  be  purgatory  to  me ;  even  such  a  short 
experience  as  would  tide  over  preparatory  work  for 
one  of  the  learned  professions  I  should  hate  to 
endure.  My  real  interest  is  all  in  the  studies  out- 
side of  mathematics.  That  is  a  burden  to  me. " 

The  professor's  face  showed  something  more  than 
a  common  interest.  He  had — he  could  hardly 
explain  why  himself — been  attracted  by  the  young 
fellow  who,  while  intellectually  one  of  the  most 
promising  of  the  students,  had,  at  times,  a  certain 
boyishness  of  demeanor  which  was  in  sharp  contrast 
with  his  usual  air.  Such  a  contrast,  by  the  way,  is 


54  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

not  so  uncommon  as  might  be  thought,  and  is 
certainly,  in  most  cases,  attributable  to  a  good  and 
gifted  mother.  Where  a  mother  has  the  qualities 
which  make  her  capable  of  becoming  her  son's  con- 
fidante and  friend,  he,  as  he  approaches  manhood,  is 
likely  to  retain  the  boyish  way  in  his  communication 
with  her,  and,  unconsciously,  sometimes  drops  into 
it  with  his  closest  friends  outside.  No  indication, 
this,  of  weakness,  either. 

Professor  Curtin  had  already  become  interested  in 
Sargent,  and  he  was  a  man  whose  friendship 
extended  beyond  the  lines  of  official  duty.  The 
frank  explanation  of  what  was  troubling  the  young 
man  but  drew  him  closer. 

"Are  your  evenings  all  occupied?"  he  said. 
"Would  you  mind  coming  to  see  me?  We'll  talk 
over  things. ' ' 

Sargent  was  delighted.  In  the  great  University, 
where  the  number  of  students  was  such  that  every- 
thing like  personal  relations  between  the  teachers 
and  those  taught,  outside  of  recitations,  was  out  of 
the  question,  it  was  somewhat  unusual  for  a  sopho- 
more to  be  invited  to  a  professor's  rooms  upon  a 
social  and  familiar  footing,  and  Sargent  was  the 
more  appreciative  because  Professor  Curtin  was  his 
ideal  and  because  he  felt  the  invitation  to  be  more 
than  one  merely  proceeding  from  good  nature.  He 
expressed  his  thanks  and  the  next  night  made  his 
call. 

Professor  Curtin  was  a  bachelor  and  occupied  a 
suite  of  apartments  in  a  residence  in  the  finer  part 
of  the  town.  As  Sargent  entered  and  was  greeted 


CLOSE    TO    A    PROFESSOR.  55 

as  an  equal,  he  noted  the  difference  between  the  air 
of  these  rooms  and  those  of  other  professors  of 
which  he  had  obtained  an  occasional  view,  chiefly 
toward  the  end  of  his  freshman  year,  when  he  had 
undergone  private  examination  in  the  attempt  to 
lift  a  "condition. "  In  those  rooms  the  atmosphere 
had  been  distinctly  bookish  and  pedagogical.  Here 
it  was  merely  that  pertaining  to  a  cultivated  gentle- 
man, a  man  of  the  world.  Many  volumes  were 
scattered  about,  but  they  were  not  textbooks,  and 
there  were  magazines  on  the  tables  and  paintings 
and  engravings  on  the  walls.  There  was  evidence 
of  the  little  luxuries  a  man  delights  in  who  knows 
the  fine  art  of  living,  though  all  was  simple.  It 
was  a  soft  and  enticing  armchair  in  which  Sar- 
gent was  asked  to  seat  himself,  and  the  casual  talk 
of  the  first  half  hour  was  of  such  a  nature  that  the 
visitor  was  at  ease  and  expressing  himself  earnestly 
regarding  the  athletic  work  of  the  next  season.  He 
was  amazed  at  Curtin's  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  year's  progress  in  the  different  fields  of  college 
sport,  and  recognized  the  fact  that  this  quiet  man, 
whom  no  one  supposed  to  be  much  interested  in 
such  things,  had  followed  closely  the  fortunes  of  the 
different  teams  and  was  full  of  pride  in  their 
success. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  seen  the  closing  base-ball 
game  of  the  season,  the  one  that  gave  you  the 
championship,"  said  the  professor.  "It  must  have 
been  finely  played  and  the  triumph  fairly  deserved. 
I  can  imagine  the  trip  homeward. ' ' 

Here  was  a  subject  on  which  Sargent  could  grow 


56  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

eloquent,  and  he  told  the  tale  of  the  great  day 
enthusiastically  and  well.  He  forgot  himself  and 
talked  as  freely  as  if  the  listener  had  been  his  own 
room-mate  and  the  professor,  noting  him  carefully, 
was  evidently  pleased.  He  noted  the  speaker's  lusty 
proportions  and  the  imconscious  grace  of  strength 
which  characterized  every  movement,  and  com- 
mented, almost  with  a  sigh : 

' '  It  was  certainly  well  done.  You  gentlemen  who 
played  so  well  should  be  gratified  that  you  had 
bodies  equal  to  the  need.  That  is  what  some  of  us 
are  denied.  But  more  than  in  your  strength  and 
skill  I  was  pleased  with  the  judgment  which  seems 
to  have  been  exercised,  the  self-possession  and  the 
discretion  in  doing  the  best  that  was  in  you  at  a 
critical  stage  of  the  game.  The  gain  is  not  all 
physical  which  comes  in  such  contests.  There  is  a 
mental  training  as  well.  You  are  fortunate  that 
you  are  fitted  for  such  sports.  What  made  you  so 
strong  and  supple?  Can  you  tell  that?" 

Sargent  told  of  his  birth  in  the  country,  of  the 
outdoor  life  with  the  creatures  of  field  and  forest  he 
had  led  almost  in  childhood  and  as  a  boy,  of  the 
fishing  and  the  hunting  in  later  days,  and,  finally,  of 
the  sports  while  at  school  for  which  such  life  had  so 
well  adapted  him.  As  he  reached  the  present  in 
his  account,  his  enthusiasm  dwindled.  He  had  en- 
countered his  future  now,  and  he  paused  somewhat 
abruptly. 

With  what  tact  the  professor  invited  further  con- 
fidence and  secured  with  more  detail  than  when  the 
two  had  walked  together  the  story  of  Sargent's 


CLOSE    TO    A    PROFESSOR.  57 

present  doubts  and  apprehension  need  not  be  told. 
It  was  but  the  kindly  questioning  and  talk  of  a  man 
of  brain  and  heart.  He  spoke  as  Sargent  paused: 

"I  can  understand  your  feeling.  I  once  under- 
went something  like  the  same  experience  myself. 
Perhaps  I  should  not  advise  you,  but  I  can  say  some 
things  without  hesitation.  Frankly,  I  do  not  think 
that  inclination  should  alone  determine  the  choice  of 
a  vocation.  What  is  easiest  for  us  is  not  always  the 
best  for  us,  and  the  mind,  in  youth  at  least,  is 
flexible  to  many  ends.  Here,  I  understand,  is 
your  situation  briefly  outlined:  You  are  taking  a 
scientific  course,  though  your  tastes  are  rather 
literary;  your  future  chances,  because  of  certain 
relations  in  the  outside  world,  are  better  in  the 
engineering  field  than  elsewhere,  and  you  have  fears 
lest  you  should  fail  to  become  a  good  engineer. 
That  is  about  your  case,  is  it  not?" 

"That  is  just  how  I  am  situated,  Professor." 

"Well,  I  should  say  this.  I  have  noted  pretty 
closely,  I  think,  your  apparent  drift  of  thought  and 
your  capabilities.  I've  been  glad  of  the  interest 
you've  shown  in  the  studies  pursued  with  me,  and, 
I'll  say  freely,  I've  come  to  feel  an  exceptional 
interest  in  your  welfare.  I  want  you  to  count  me  as 
among  your  personal  friends  and  let  me  help  you  as 
I  can,  if  you  will  have  it  so. ' ' 

Sargent  flushed  and  did  not  speak  at  first.  It  is 
not  a  small  thing  for  a  college  student  to  become  the 
personal  friend  of  a  professor  of  such  dignity  and 
standing  as  Curtin.  The  reality  of  the  liking, 
though,  was  what  most  touched  him,  for  Curtin 


58  THE    LAUNCHING    OP    A   MAN. 

was  one  he  had  learned  to  love  himself.  He  found 
words  at  last,  very  bungling  ones,  and  contrived  to 
tell  how  proud  and  glad  he  was. 

"Then,"  said  the  professor,  "since  we  are  to 
work  and  advise  together,  I'll  make  a  first  sugges- 
tion. Stick  to  the  preparation  for  engineering. ' ' 

"You  really  think  that  best?" 

"Yes;  you  are  equal  to  it.  Meanwhile  we'll  do 
what  we  can  in  literature.  There  will  be  enjoy- 
ment in  it  for  both  of  us. ' ' 

The  evening  was  one  always  delightful  in  Sargent's 
memory.  There  was  much  more  talk.  He  left  the 
house  hopeful  and  resolved,  and  in  the  days  which 
followed  worked  steadily  to  a  purpose.  Difficulties 
gradually  assumed  smaller  proportions.  The  great- 
hearted older  man  had  made  him  practical. 

Many  evenings  the  two  spent  together,  and  the 
relationship,  notwithstanding  the  difference  in  age, 
grew  to  be  almost  brotherly.  Broader  and  better 
understanding  of  literary  things  the  student  gained 
and  his  courage  was  always  fortified  in  his  harder 
work.  A  "clear  style"  was  one  thing  the  professor 
insisted  upon.  A  droll  thing,  somewhat  humiliating 
to  Sargent,  occurred  soon  after  his  return  to  college 
at  the  beginning  of  the  new  college  year.  With 
pardonable  pride,  he  showed  to  the  professor  a 
heavy  manuscript  book.  In  it  were  most  of 
Macaulay's  Essays,  carefully  transcribed.  "I've 
got  them  almost  by  heart,"  he  said;  "I've  had 
leisure,  while  helping  my  father  in  his  office,  and  I 
copied  them  to  improve  my  style. ' ' 

The  professor  smiled ;  well  he  knew  the  fascina- 


CLOSE    TO    A    PROFESSOR.  59 

tion  Macaulay's  rolling  sentences  and  finely  culmi- 
nating paragraphs,  full  of  mellow  Latin  derivatives, 
have  for  young  and  ambitious  students.  How 
charming  to  the  young  man  was  the  New  Zealander, 
brooding  curiously  over  the  ruins  of  St.  Paul's.  But 
the  professor  was  indulgent,  and  wise. 

"All  work  of  that  sort  is  good,"  he  said,  "though 
strong  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  language  we  should 
seek,  the  language  for  the  world-makers.  Shall  I 
tell  you  what  is  one  of  the  best  bits  of  writing  I 
ever  saw?" 

"I  would  like  to  hear  of  it,"  said  Sargent. 

"There  is  a  friend  of  mine,  one  of  the  faculty,  in 
whose  house  a  Norwegian  servant  is  employed. 
She  had  a  good  education  in  her  mother  country, 
but  does  not  yet  grasp  knowingly  her  English.  Lately 
she  was  absent  for  a  time,  and,  while  away,  had 
need  to  write  a  letter  to  her  mistress.  It  was  this 
letter  the  professor  showed  me.  It  was  in  English 
and  was  almost  pure  Anglo-Saxon.  It  was  a  strik- 
ing letter,  strong  and  clear  and  charming  to  a 
student.  My  friend  asked  the  girl  upon  her  return 
how  it  came  that  she  had  used  the  English  language 
so  well.  The  girl  was  surprised:  'I  don't  under- 
stand, '  she  said.  '  I  only  wrote  first  as  well  as  I 
could  what  I  wanted  to  say;  then  I  found  in  the 
dictionary  the  shortest  words  I  could.  I  thought 
that  would  be  simpler. ' 

"That,"  explained  Professor  Curtin,  "accounted 
for  the  good  work,  the  short  Saxon  words. ' ' 

Sargent  said  nothing,  but  he  did  not  forget  the 
lesson.  It  required  time  to  recover  from  the 


60  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

Macaulay  habit,  but  the  recovery  came.  And  all 
such  incidents  as  these  were  a  delight  to  the  two, 
then,  and  in  later  years,  to  Sargent  alone. 

There  came  a  time  when  Professor  Curtin's  cheeks 
grew  thinner  and  redder  and  when  he  was  racked 
by  coughing.  There  came  a  time  when  Sargent, 
sitting  by  the  couch  of  the  sick  man  and  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead,  suffered  as  one  may 
do  for  a  friend.  At  last  came  the  parting  of  the 
two  who  had  learned  to  care  for  each  other,  when 
Professor  Curtin  made  a  journey  to  Southern  France 
in  vain  search  for  an  atmosphere  which  would  give 
relief,  and  the  end  drew  near.  One  day  there 
came  to  the  University  the  not  unexpected  news 
from  Cannes  of  the  death  of  a  man  who  had  helped 
make  other  men.  It  was  not  into  the  eyes  of 
Sargent  alone  that  the  tears  came  then. 


SURVEYING    THE    CAT    HOLE.  61 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SURVEYING  THE  CAT   HOLE. 

As  Sargent  applied  himself  more  and  more 
thoroughly  to  his  mathematics,  the  magnitude  of 
his  troubles  dwindled  but  never  quite  disappeared. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  there  was  really  lacking  in  him 
the  ability  to  become  fully  at  home  in  what  is  known 
as  "pure  mathematics,"  however  earnestly  he  migl\t 
devote  himself  to  study.  There  was  in  him, 
undoubtedly,  as  Professor  Curtin  had  divined,  the 
making,  by  effort,  of  an  engineer,  but  not  of  an 
astronomer.  With  one  professor  of  mathematics  he 
was  growing  more  and  more  at  ease ;  with  another 
he  was  still  ever  on  the  defensive.  He  was  tolerably 
content,  though.  One  day  he  was  sent  out  in  charge 
of  a  body  of  class-mates  to  survey  the  ' '  Cat  Hole. ' ' 

In  the  region  near  the  University  were  hills  and 
hollows  curiously  formed.  At  one  place  was  a  little 
valley  with  a  steep  descent  from  all  sides,  in  the 
midst  of  which  rose  a  cone-shaped  miniature 
mountain.  This  was  known  as  the  "Cup  and 
Saucer. ' '  Not  far  distant  was  a  similar  deep  hollow 
wherein  was  no  elevation,  but,  instead,  a  broad, 
irregularly  extending  pond,  which  was  never  dry.  To 
send  a  student  out  to  survey  this  odd-shaped  water 
surface  and  report  its  area  in  yards  was  a  favorite 
device  of  one  professor.  It  afforded  a  test  which 


62  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

was  reliable  of  that  particular  student's  real  acquire- 
ments, for,  be  it  known,  the  pond,  fed  by  invisible 
springs,  was  a  most  erratic  body  and  rose  and  fell  at 
regular  intervals  so  that  its  superficial  area  remained 
the  same  only  for  a  day  or  two  at  a  time.  Had  it 
been  otherwise  the  result  of  past  surveyings  would 
have  been  easily  at  the  student's  command,  and  his 
task  a  normal  one.  As  it  was,  the  result  was 
always  uncertain,  and  the  professor's  occasional 
verifications  of  the  work  left  the  student  always  at 
his  mercy.  Surely  that  pond,  the  ' '  Cat  Hole, ' '  the 
origin  of  which  name  was  involved  in  mystery,  must 
have  been  placed  there  by  thoughtful  Nature  purely 
as  a  means  for  promoting  the  thorough  education  of 
the  young  men  of  the  land. 

Sargent  had  never  examined  the  "Cat  Hole,"  but 
he  set  out  blithely,  and  his  orders  to  his  fellow 
students,  who  were  to  act  as  chain  men  and  rod 
men  and  do  other  work  under  his  austere  direction, 
were  issued  with  a  mock  pompousness  which  did 
him  credit  as  a  tyrant.  The  task  was  done  carefully 
and  the  notes  taken  were  most  voluminous,  and, 
when  Sargent  went  home  that  night,  he  felt  that  he 
had  not  been  working  blindly  and  that  he  was  equal 
to  the  computation  still  before  him.  He  wanted  that 
particular  survey  of  the  "Cat  Hole"  to  be  the  most 
handsome  and  accurate  ever  made;  he  wanted  his 
conclusion  put  in  plain  figures,  down  to  square  yards 
and  feet  and  inches,  and  that  night  the  lamp  in  his 
room  burned  late.  He  worked  carefully  and  with  a 
clear  head,  and,  before  morning  came,  he  had  his 
deductions  made  and  the  result  of  his  labor  clearly 


SURVEYING    THE    CAT    HOLE.  63 

copied  for  presentation.  At  recitation  the  next  day 
he  had  his  reward.  The  professor  conned  the 
report  closely  and  a  smile  appeared  upon  his  face. 
"You  did  that  well,  Mr.  Sargent,"  he  said;  "I  had 
the  survey  made  early  yesterday  morning,  but  your 
results  are  carried  out  more  closely  and  your  survey 
is  the  better  of  the  two." 

Sargent  was  gratified.  The  next  day  he  failed  in 
recitation  in  astronomy. 

The  weeks  passed  rapidly  and  the  date  of  examina- 
tion day  approached  again  only  to  find  Sargent  once 
more  apprehensive.  Still  elusive  was  full  comprehen- 
sion of  the  branch  of  study  which  had  so  worried 
him,  and,  as  the  test  day  came  nearer,  the  conviction 
forced  itself  upon  him  that  ignominy  was  in  store. 
So  close  at  hand,  finally,  was  the  end  of  the  semester 
that  upon"  the  next  day  examinations  must  be  held. 
All  day  Sargent  labored  hard  with  the  problems 
which  it  was  supposed  might  be  given  to  the 
students,  but  with  most  unsatisfactory  issue.  The 
night  coming  was  that  of  the  Junior  Exhibition,  an 
event  of  almost  as  great  magnitude  to  the  sopho- 
mores as  to  the  juniors  themselves,  for  here  was 
afforded  opportunity  to  harass  their  natural  en- 
emies. 

Sargent  had  been  active  in  preparing  the  some- 
what ferocious  literature  circulated  on  such  occa- 
sions, and  it  was  imperative  that  he  should  attend 
the  exhibition.  A  lady  was  to  accompany  him  and 
he  did  not  regret  the  engagement,  for  he  felt  that 
anything  to  distract  his  mind  from  the  whirling 
problems  would  make  him  more  calm  and  clear- 


64  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

headed  for  the  morrow.  He  must  face  the  trial,  do 
his  best,  hope  for  the  best  and  take  the  con- 
sequences ! 

He  sat  beside  the  fair  young  woman,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  exhibition  had  temporarily  forgotten 
himself  and  his  troubles  in  watching  the  performance 
upon  the  stage  and  exchanging  comments  with  his 
companion. 

It  was  at  a  moment  of  greatest  interest  when 
Sargent  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He  turned 
in  his  seat  and  looked  at  the  clean-cut  face  of  the 
tow-haired  Lathrop,  who,  in  mathematics,  as  has 
been  told,  was  only  a  little  better  than  he.  Upon 
Lathrop 's  face  was  an  expression  of  mingled 
excitement  and  anxiety. 

"Come  with  me  at  once,"  he  whispered.  "Make 
any  sort  of  an  excuse,  but  come,  and  say  you  won't 
be  back,  too.  Miss  Vanne  has  friends  in  the  next 
seat — they  live  next  door  to  her — I  know  'em;  and 
they'll  take  her  home.  Don't  waste  a  moment." 

Sargent  knew  that  Lathrop  could  have  come  in 
such  manner  and  at  such  a  time  on  no  trifling 
errand.  He  leaned  toward  the  lady  beside  him, 
explained  and  apologized  and  got  permission  to  go 
away  upon  his  urgent  affair.  Hurried  arrangements 
were  made  to  place  her  with  her  friends,  and  after 
a  quick  good-night,  Sargent  left  the  hall,  and,  a 
moment  later,  he  and  Lathrop  were  on  the  street 
together.  Lathrop  seized  Sargent  by  the  arm  and 
hurried  him  along,  saying,  pantingly,  as  he  did  so: 

"We  can  get  the  papers!" 

Sargent  could  not  believe  his  ears.     So  strict  had 


SURVEYING    THE    CAT    HOLE.  65 

been  the  guard  preserved  over  the  "examination 
papers, ' '  that  is,  the  prepared  list  of  problems  to  be 
submitted  to  the  class,  that,  for  some  years,  no 
inkling  of  their  contents  had  been  secured  until  the 
class  to  be  examined  had  been  confined  in  its  room 
and  the  papers  then  given  out  to  each  man  separately, 
to  do  the  best  he  could  within  a  limited  time. 
Sargent  was  startled. 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"They  are  in  the  professor's  desk  in  his  study  in 
his  house.  I  saw  him  have  a  package  when  he  left 
the  college  this  evening  and  I  followed  him.  The 
study  is  on  the  ground  floor,  you  know.  I  kept  close 
behind  him  until  he  opened  his  own  gate  and  went 
into  the  house,  then  I  jumped  the  fence  into  the 
garden,  went  up  and  looked  in  between  the  slats  of 
the  blinds  of  one  of  the  study  windows.  Old 
Syllabus  came  in,  after  taking  off  his  overcoat  in  the 
hall.  He  opened  the  package  he  carried,  and  I 
could  see  that  it  contained  the  examination  papers. 
He  sat  looking  over  them  for  a  while  and  then  went 
to  his  desk  and  put  them  in.  He  didn't  lock  the 
desk.  He's  on  the  stage  with  the  rest  of  the  faculty 
at  the  Junior  Exhibition  now  and  he  surely  can't 
get  out,  unless  something  happens,  before  eleven 
o'clock.  But  we've  got  to  hustle!" 

"What's  the  program?" 

"That's  all  simple.  The  house  is  about  deserted. 
I  don't  believe  the  window  is  fastened  down,  but, 
if  it  is,  I've  got  something  to  pry  it  up  with.  We 
can  get  in  there  in  no  time,  get  the  papers,  go  over 
to  Grindlock's  and  copy  them  and  then  return  them 


66  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

to  the  desk  before  Old  Syllabus  gets  back;  he'll 
never  know  of  it,  and,  as  for  us,  we  shall  be  loaded 
for  bear!" 

A  thrill  went  through  Sargent ;  he  saw  an  end  to 
his  troubles  over  the  examination  and  was  momen- 
tarily exultant.  Then  came  reflection  as  to  the  act 
he  was  to  engage  in — burglary,  larceny,  deceit.  He 
was  impelled  to  refuse,  and  began,  hesitatingly,  to 
express  his  views,  when  Lathrop  cut  him  short  with 
a  "Pshaw,  it's  nothing  of  the  sort!  It's  a  fair  fight 
with  the  professor  and  has  always  been  so.  We're 
going  to  steal  nothing  but  some  information.  It's 
fair  game  and  you're  only  splitting  hairs.  And,  my 
boy,  we  need  those  papers  badly,  you  and  I!" 

The  salve  thus  applied  to  his  conscience,  Sargent 
admitted  the  idea  of  a  mere  student's  trick,  as  he 
made  himself  call  it,  so  pandering  to  his  own  desire. 
It  accomplished  its  work  and  Sargent  yielded. 
They  were  approaching  the  professor's  house  now. 
They  climbed  the  fence  and  cautiously  approached 
the  study  window.  The  shutters,  left  carelessly 
unlatched  by  the  stern  man  who  never  dreamed  of 
an  invasion  of  his  residence,  opened  easily,  and  the 
window  followed.  Lathrop,  who  had  the  exact 
location  of  the  desk  fixed  in  mind,  claimed  the  right 
to  enter  and  was  assisted  by  his  athletic  companion. 
For  a  few  moments  Sargent  waited  anxiously  and 
then  Lathrop  appeared  again  and  was  lifted  noise- 
lessly to  the  ground.  "I've  got  'em,"  he  said.  The 
window  sash  was  lowered,  the  shutters  closed,  and 
the  two  fled  noiselessly  away  and  were  soon  in  the 
rear  room  of  a  restaurant  a  few  blocks  distant. 


SURVEYING    THE   CAT    HOLE.  67 

Little  was  said  between  the  two  young  men.  The 
work  before  them  was  merely  mechanical  and  they 
assailed  it  eagerly.  For  an  hour  the  pencils  flew 
over  the  paper,  and  then,  with  a  long  breath,  each 
announced  his  portion  of  the  task  completed.  The 
papers  had  been  copied  in  their  entirety  and  now 
must  be  returned,  or  all  had  gone  for  naught  or  for 
worse  then  naught. 

The  two  returned  to  the  scene  of  their  exploit 
and  repeated  it  with  but  slight  variation.  Again 
the  blinds  were  opened,  the  window  raised,  and 
again  Lathrop  entered  the  room.  He  was  not  gone 
long,  and  when  the  window  was  carefully  closed 
again  each  of  the  two  upon  the  ground  breathed 
more  freely,  and  freer  still  when  they  were  upon 
the  street.  As  they  emerged  from  the  side  street 
into  the  principal  thoroughfare  a  gentleman, 
accompanied  by  two  ladies,  met  and  passed,  but  did 
not  notice  them.  It  was  "Old  Syllabus." 

"Thank  heaven,  we  weren't  any  later!"  said 
Lathrop  fervently.  Long  and  arduous  work  was 
still  before  the  abandoned  sinners.  To  have  in 
their  possession  what  problems  they  must  solve  the 
succeeding  day  was  a  great  thing;  but  how  about 
the  solutions?  Assistance  must  be  had,  and  there 
was  but  one  resource  for  them.  They  must  make 
a  confidant  of  Mayo,  and  demand  his  aid.  First 
they  ate  a  bounteous  supper  together — for  the 
weight  of  crime  upon  them  did  not  affect  their 
appetites — and  then  they  invaded  the  rooms  of  their 
unfortunate  friend  and  routed  him  from  his  bed. 
The  conduct  of  Mr.  Mayo  under  these  circumstances 


68  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

was  characteristic,  and  would  have  left  to  an 
observer  a  most  hazy  conception  of  his  moral  views. 
He  listened  in  his  night  dress  grinningly  as  the  tale 
was  told  him,  and,  though  above  all  need  of  the 
papers  himself,  being  a  natural  mathematician,  he 
was  hilarious  at  its  conclusion.  He  dressed  hurriedly 
and  talked  jubilantly.  He  produced  paper,  arranged 
a  couch  near  the  lamp,  seized  upon  the  copied 
problems,  and,  with  a  pupil  on  either  side  of  him, 
began  his  explanations.  One  by  one,  the  problems 
and  equations  were  gone  over  until  each  of  the 
visitors  had  each  problem  fairly  solved  on  paper  and 
had  obtained  at  least  a  glimmering  of  the  meaning 
of  his  own  figures  and  algebraic  characters.  By  no 
means  perfect  were  these  solutions,  for  perfect 
papers  from  either  Sargent  or  Lathrop  would  have 
excited  prompt  suspicion.  Slight  errors  were  pur- 
posely introduced,  but  a  certain  decent  average  was 
maintained.  "We've  got  to  make  'em  about  80  per 
cent,"  said  the  astute  Mayo.  "That'll  pass  you, 
but  won't  look  queer." 

The  darkness  was  turning  to  gray  dawn  when  the 
work  was  done,  and  all  three  sought  a  little  sleep 
before  the  coming  day  of  trial.  At  ten  o'clock 
Sargent  and  Lathrop  were,  together  with  a  room  full 
of  other  victims  of  the  inquisition,  working  with 
apparent  diligence  upon  the  problems  of  which  they 
already  had  such  guilty  knowledge.  They  made 
many  computations  and  consumed  much  paper,  but 
not  a  page  of  it  ever  reached  the  professor's  hand. 
What  did  reach  him  were  the  papers  prepared  in  the 
room  of  Mayo,  and  when  they  were  handed  in  and 


SURVEYING    THE    CAT    HOLE.  69 

all  those  examined  separated  to  await  the  announce- 
ment of  their  fate  upon  the  morrow,  each  of  the  two 
burglars  wished  Mayo  had  allowed  them  a  somewhat 
higher  percentage.  "We're  pretty  low,  but  I  don't 
believe  Old  Syllabus  would  have  smelled  anything 
at  85,"  said  Lathrop. 

About  the  bulletin  boards  next  day  were  gathered 
anxious  groups  scanning  closely  the  lists  of  the 
fortunate  passed  ones.  In  it  appeared,  "in  shining 
letters,"  as  one  declared,  the  names  of  Sargent  and 
Lathrop.  And  the  chief  conspirator  rubbed  his 
hands  together  and  chanted  gleefully:  "We's  ober 
de  ribber,  yah,  yah,  yah!" 

"Yes,"  assented  Sargent,  "we's  ober  de  ribber, 
but,  somehow,  I  feel  like  a  sneak  thief ! ' ' 

And  he  did.  Lathrop  said  nothing.  He  looked 
grave,  suddenly,  and,  without  doubt,  felt  some 
qualms  of  conscience.  Mathematics  was  a  hard  won 
victor)r,  as  both  youngsters  upon  reflection  decided. 
It  was  some  years  before  Sargent's  cheek  ceased  to 
burn  whenever  he  thought  of  "Old  Syllabus"  and 
his  desk,  of  the  open  window  and  the  stealing  away 
from  it  at  night  of  two  young  desperadoes,  one 
of  whom  had  his  own  form  and  features,  but  with 
whom  he  could  hardly  identify  himself,  so  unlike 
him,  he  hoped,  was  the  whole  adventure. 

After  all  came  good,  as  good  often  comes  out  of 
bad,  for,  in  silent  strength  of  feeling,  Sargent 
resolved  finally,  that  whatever  he  gained  during  the 
rest  of  his  life,  should  be  his  by  right,  acquired  in 
the  face  of  day,  and  that  to  lose  were  better  than  to 
gain  otherwise. 


70  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  JUNIOR  AND  A  YOUNG  WOMAN. 

Her  hair  is  red  as  flame  may  be ; 
A  glowing  crown  it  seems  to  me ; 

Warm,  like  her  heart — O,  heart  of  might! 

Her  skin,  like  royal  ermine,  white — 
Ermine  goes  with  the  crown,  you  see ; 
Her  hair  is  red ! 

The  Queen's  heart  is  a  bubbling  sea, 
From  scarlet  geysers  flowing  free— 

Such  blood  is  when  the  hair's  so  bright — 
No  lifeless,  halting  ruler  she, 
Tempestuous  in  each  decree. 

Yet  oft  repentant,  loving  quite. 
Who  would  not  bend  a  rugged  knee 

To  rule  so  lofty  yet  so  light? 
Her  hair  is  red ! 

— The  Red  Rondeau. 

A  junior  in  college  bears  in  some  respects  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  the  Vice-President  of  the  United 
States.  He  has  had,  necessarily,  something  of  a 
career  in  his  field;  he  has  reached  a  point  where 
there  is  great  dignity  possibly  awaiting  him,  for  he 
is  likely  to  be  a  senior,  but  he  is  not  prominent  in 
the  active  life  of  the  present.  His  warfare  and 
trials  as  a  sophomore  over,  he  is  no  longer  of  the 
turbulent  element  in  the  college,  and  there  remains 
for  him  only  completion  of  the  year  of  study  before 


A    JUNIOR    AND    A   YOUNG    WOMAN.  71 

he  is  one  of  the  stateliest  of  all  human  beings,  a 
senior.  So  it  comes  that  the  junior,  being  thus 
without  great  aims  and  duties  outside  his  class  work, 
becomes  aware  of  the  fact  that  there  are  in  the  world 
creatures  fairer  than  men,  and  joys  aside  from  those 
strictly  related  to  the  collegiate  course.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  swiftly  his  eyes  are  opened  in  this  direc- 
tion. Hardly  has  he  become  assured  of  his  safe 
passage  over  the  dangerous  shoals  in  his  examina- 
tion before  he  begins  to  note  the  neat  foot  and 
expressive  eye  of  the  other  sex  and  has  opinions  of 
profundity  thereon.  This  fact  in  natural  history  has 
been  noted  and  admitted  in  all  colleges,  without 
exception.  It  is  not  often,  though,  that  juniors  fall 
so  suddenly  into  a  new  condition  as  did  Sargent. 

There  had  been  many  things  to  attend  to  after  the 
examinations,  and  especially  did  those  with  athletic 
affairs  on  their  minds  have  their  hands  full.  There 
were  many  meetings  having  regard  to  the  work  of 
the  coming  year.  Sargent  bolted  from  one  place  to 
another  like  a  politician  at  a  convention.  He  was 
trotting,  almost  running  heedlessly,  but  with  the 
momentum  of  a  man  weighing  well  up  toward  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds,  and  he  was 
trotting  like  a  fool,  for  his  head  was  down,  and  he 
had  to  turn  a  corner.  He  swerved  and  turned  about 
the  almost  right-angle  of  the  pathway,  and  then 
there  was  an  impact,  and  something  slight  gave  way 
before  him  and  went  groundward.  There  came  to 
his  nostrils  a  faint  perfume  and  to  his  brain  came 
suddenly  a  little  sense.  In  turning  the  corner  of  the 
building  he  had  run  down  a  young  woman  and  had 


72  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

done  the  running  down  most  thoroughly.  He 
swerved,  caught  himself  against  the  side  of  the 
building,  and  looked  upon  the  ruin  he  had  wrought. 
Something  slight  and  fair  was  upon  the  grass,  and 
something  slight  and  fair  recovered  itself  with 
wondrous  ease  and  stood  before  him.  The  some- 
thing was  a  young  lady,  who,  with  extraordinary 
calmness,  under  the  circumstances,  and  with  a 
woman's  instinct,  was  arranging  her  tumbled  hair. 
Her  hat  lay  on  the  ground  beside  her.  Now,  that 
hair  was  of  a  rare  tint  like  the  red,  unburnished 
copper,  and,  as  the  girl  twisted  its  heavy  waving 
masses  into  a  great  rope  and  coiled  and  fastened  it 
at  the  back  of  her  well-shaped  head,  she  looked  at 
Sargent  calmly  and  without  a  word. 

Sargent  stepped  forward  and  picked  up  the 
marvelous  straw  hat,  while  he  recited  an  abject 
apology,  and  stood  waiting  until  the  hair-dressing 
was  at  such  a  stage  as  to  admit  the  putting  on  of 
the  crown,  and  then  he  handed  the  delicate  mass  of 
straw,  lace  and  ribbon  to  the  girl  of  the  glorious 
hair,  but  he  had  recovered  himself  now,  the  young 
brute,  and  he  couldn't  help  saying,  as  he  glanced  at 
her  shining  tresses — 

"It's  too  bad  to  cover  your  hair,  even  with  such  a 
hat." 

Sargent  had  spoken  the  crystal  clear  truth  as  the 
thought  entered  his  brain  just  as  a  ghost  of  a  smile 
appeared  on  the  lips  of  the  red-haired  girl,  but  the 
brim  of  the  straw  hat  was  now  poised  over  a  face 
flushed  with  rose  color,  and,  without  a  smile,  the  girl 
said,  as  she  turned  to  go  in  the  opposite  direction 


A    JUNIOR    AND    A    YOUNG    WOMAN.  73 

from  Sargent's  way,  "It's  not  your  fault,  I  know — 
all  this — but  your  comment  is  like  your  racing 
gait." 

"I  was  awkward.  You  must  pardon  me!" 
pleaded  Sargent,  but  the  red-gold  head,  after  a 
slight  bow  to  him,  was  held  up  very  high,  and  the 
fair  face  was  turned  away  as  the  girl  walked  from 
him. 

The  young  man  stood  looking  after  her  in  a  dazed 
way,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  usual  manner  in 
an  emergency,  quite  out  of  keeping,  even,  with 
his  usual  manner  toward  ladies,  for  he  was 
not  a  person  easily  abashed,  and  had  grown  up 
among  clever  sisters.  Now  he  stood  looking  at  the 
disappearing  girl  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  seen  a 
vision.  For  that  matter,  he  had  really  seen  one,  and 
one  which  it  was  a  privilege  to  look  upon.  Fairer 
vision  seldom  comes  to  mortals  than  that  which  was 
just  disappearing  round  the  corner  of  a  building. 
Only  when  the  last  skirt-flutter  was  lost  to  sight  did 
the  young  man  recover  himself,  and  his  face  again 
assume  an  expression  of  more  or  less  intelligence. 
Then  he  started  impulsively  to  follow  the  girl, 
but  checked  himself  at  once.  "I'll  find  her, 
though,  somehow.  I'll  find  her!"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

It  was  noted  that  evening  by  his  room-mate  that 
Sargent  appeared  absent-minded  and  speculative. 
Comment  to  such  effect  elicited  but  a  good-natured 
growl,  but  the  fact  of  absent-mindedness  was  indis- 
putable. Sargent  was  thinking,  and  thinking  hard, 
and  his  thoughts  were  all  toward  the  solution  of  a 


74  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A    MAN. 

problem  of  finding  a  fair  "X."     The  equation  was 
rather  a  difficult  one.     He  formed  it  in  his  mind: 

X  =  Identity  of  one  fair  unknown. 

Y  =  One  angelic  creature  with  the  reddest  hair  and 
whitest  skin  in  the  world. 

XY  =  One  guest  among  five  thousand  visitors  at 
Commencement  exercises  =  Something  to  be 
found  among  that  five  thousand. 

Then  X-|-Y  =  Result  of    efforts    of   self    and   friends,    par- 
ticularly self. 

More  definite  understanding  of  certain  features  of 
the  second  half  of  the  equation  were,  he  decided,  to 
be  arranged  for  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and 
work  on  the  equation  which  had  suddenly  become  a 
thing  so  near  the  heart  of  Sargent  began  very  early 
indeed. 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  interest  Lathrop,  and 
interest  him  deeply,  and  Sargent  introduced  the 
subject  at  breakfast  in  what  he  considered  an 
extremely  far-off  and  crafty  way. 

"I  ran  into  a  woman  yesterday.' 

"Yes,  young  or  old?" — This  in  an  uninterested 
way  from  Lathrop,  who,  as  he  ate,  was  reading  the 
morning  paper's  account  of  Commencement  affairs. 

"Young;  and  I  bowled  her  over,  and  I've  got  to 
find  her  and  square  myself.  I  was  coming  around 
a  corner  of  the  middle  building,  and  on  a  run,  like 
a  fool.  I  might  have  known  I'd  lift  somebody.  I 
did,  and  it  was  a  young  lady!  I've  been  feeling 
small  over  it,  ever  since." 

"Description?" 

"About  eighteen,  I  should  think,  slender;  eyes — 


A    JUNIOR    AND    A   YOUNG    WOMAN.  75 

I  don't  know  what  color — just  eyes  that  saw  you,  a 
skin  like  what  comes  when  you  squeeze  milk-weed, 
and  hair,  a  cross  between  copper  and  the  heart  of  a 
coal  fire.  Furthermore,  she's  proud  and  'hotty' — 
was  stately  when  I  tried  to  apologize.  But  I've  got 
to  find  her." 

The  interest  at  once  exhibited  by  the  gracious 
young  man,  Lathrop,  was,  to  say  the  least,  sus- 
picious. He  was  ardent  in  a  moment,  but  he  had 
remarks  to  make. 

"We'll  find  her!  Oh!  we'll  find  her!— but,  I  say  it 
in  all  kindness,  what  did  you  eat  yesterday,  or  have 
you  risen  silently  and  sneaked  away  from  me  to 
some  hostelry  as  the  dawn  broke  gradually?  Of 
course  their  isn't  any  hostel  near  here,  and  you 
don't  drink,  but  I  had  to  round  out  the  sentence.  I 
had  reason,  too!  Something  has  got  you.  I  think 
it's  the  hair. 

"Let  me  tangle  a  hand  in  your  hair,  Jeanette, 
And  you  won't  get  away,  you'll  be  mine,  you  bet!" 

hummed  the  young  brute.  "Your  hand  shall,  alle- 
gorically,  be  there,  my  boy!  Give  us  further 
details. ' ' 

Now,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  such  an  out- 
break on  the  part  of  one  Lathrop  would  have  been 
followed  by  an  immediate  and  violent  personal 
assault,  but,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  chaffer,  no 
such  issue  came.  On  the  contrary,  Sargent,  assum- 
ing a  casual  air,  only  said  conciliatingly : 

"Well,  how  are  we  to  do  it?" 

Lathrop  stood  astonished,  for  he  had  braced  him- 


7 6  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

self  against  an  attack,  and  such  extraordinary 
demeanor  on  the  part  of  his  stalwart  room-mate  was 
too  much  for  him.  It  seemed  unfair.  He  had  been 
imposed  upon  by  an  unaggressive  appeal  to  his 
finer  feelings.  But  he  rose,  or,  in  his  own  estima- 
tion, fell  to  the  occasion.  He  became,  on  the 
instant,  a  young  college  Moses  leading  a  friend  out 
of  the  wilderness,  a  Galahad  with  but  vague  ideas  in 
mind,  a  Damon  ready  to  prance  about  in  the 
interest  of  a  Pythias. 

"Sargent,"  he  said,  "she's  as  good  as  found! 
Behold  in  me  the  old  man  with  the  witch-hazel  rod 
having  a  forked  end !  Great  am  I,  begobs !  I  find 
not  only  hidden  water,  but  hidden  fire !  Hoopla ! ' ' 
and  the  young  man  executed  an  ungainly  dance. 

It  was  chaffing,  but,  nevertheless,  Sargent  felt 
relieved.  He  was  in  earnest ;  he  knew  his  friend  to 
be  so,  as  to  finding  the  girl,  at  least,  and  here  was  aid. 

They  talked  together  long  and  earnestly  as  to  the 
best  method  of  discovering  a  nameless  but  recogniz- 
able young  woman  in  a  visiting  force  of  five  thou- 
sand or  more  people,  and,  after  all,  the  result  of  their 
discussion  was  practical,  Lathrop  affording  most  of 
the  brains  in  the  debate,  because  his  point  of  view 
was  necessarily  most  objective  and  unobscured. 
"She  wouldn't  have  come  to  the  University,"  he 
declared,  "unless  she  were  going  to  attend  the 
Commencement  exercises.  She'll  be  in  sight  some- 
where among  five  or  six  thousand  people.  That 
means  only  opera  glasses  and  work,  thanks  to  the 
infatuated  perfection  of  your  description.  Oh! 
we'll  get  'er!" 


A   JUNIOR   AND   A   YOUNG   WOMAN.          77 

The  day  of  the  Commencement  exercises  came  and 
the  great  hall  of  the  University  was  packed  by  the 
glittering  assemblage  such  an  occasion  demands. 
There  were  the  faculty  and  the  graduating  class  in 
all  dignity  on  the  wide  platform,  there  was  a  blaze 
of  color  and  flutter  of  fans  throughout  the  audi- 
torium, where  fair  women  were  as  numerous  as 
men,  and  there,  situated  at  a  vantage  point  for 
viewing  the  audience,  were  two  newly-fledged 
juniors,  each  holding  an  opera  glass,  and  each  devot- 
ing himself  as  strictly  to  studying  the  scene  through 
his  glasses  as  though  he  were  a  field  officer  in 
battle. 

Very  elaborate  had  been  the  preparations  for 
this  "needle  hunting,"  as  Lathrop  called  it,  refer- 
ring to  that  housewifely  implement  lost  in  the  hay- 
mow, and  in  these  preparations  Lathrop  had  shone 
resplendent.  He  had  secured  two  diagrams  of  the 
hall,  and  each  diagram  he  had  marked  off  into  care- 
fully numbered  squares.  This  enabled  a  division  of 
labor  between  the  two  young  men,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  made  practicable  an  absolutely  thorough 
search.  Sargent  was  delighted  with  the  idea, 
though,  when  his  buoyant  friend  declared  that  he 
ought  to  have  a  "share  in  the  girl, ' '  if  they  found  her, 
his  face  assumed  a  grave  expression.  This  was  no 
subject  to  jest  upon.  Then,  too,  the  whole  search 
might  be  fruitless.  The  fair  unknown  might  not 
be  in  the  great  assemblage.  But  the  chances  were 
against  that,  and  Sargent  was  hopeful. 

So  the  young  men  began  their  study  of  the  audi- 
ence, Lathrop  sitting  just  behind  Sargent,  and 


78  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

neither  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  exer- 
cises. Square  by  square,  each  carefully  made  his 
search,  and  half  an  hour  passed.  Upon  the  plat- 
form some  man  of  dignity  was  making  an  address 
and  the  only  sound  heard  save  that  of  the  sonorous 
utterance  was  the  whir  of  a  thousand  fans.  All  at 
once,  this  pleasant  blending  of  sounds  was  broken 
by  a  suppressed  gasp  of  agony  followed  by  an 
excitedly  resonant  whisper  which  was  so  loud  that 
it  was  on  the  margin  of  common  speech : 

"There's  your  bonfire!" 

The  gasp  of  pain  came  from  Sargent,  who  had 
been  hit  in  the  back  with  awful  force.  The  roaring 
whisper  came  from  Lathrop,  whose  eyes  were  ablaze 
with  triumph.  There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  all 
about,  the  speaker  paused  for  a  moment  in  his 
address  and  then  all  went  on  again.  The  episode 
had  been  looked  upon  only  as  some  foolish  student's 
freak  in  disturbance  of  a  fellow.  A  moment  later 
Lathrop  leaned  forward  and  whispered  again,  but 
this  time,  though  excitedly,  in  a  lower  voice, 
"There  she  blows,  my  hearty!  There's  your  con- 
flagration; square  eighty-three!" 

Sargent  controlled  himself  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then,  as  all  attention  returned  to  the  stage,  slowly 
raised  his  glass  and  brought  it  to  bear  on  the  spot 
designated.  Yes!  It  was  ture!  There  was  the 
vision  again! 

He  could  study  her  calmly  now,  and  his  case  got 
worse.  She  might  not  be  what  appealed  to  others, 
but  there  was  the  face  for  him!  It  was  in  new 
environment  now  and  seemed  fairer  than  ever  above 


A   JUNIOR   AND   A   YOUNG   WOMAN.          79 

the  white  garb  and  thrown  out  in  relief  by  its  red 
crowning  against  a  background  of  other  faces.  He 
was  becoming  more  or  less  daft  when  aroused  to 
practical  life  by  the  restlessness  of  his  companion, 
who  claspedliis  arm  tightly  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"We've  got  the  whole  thing!     I  know  her!" 

Sargent  became  excited  and  alive:  "Know  her? 
Who  is  she?" 

"Well,  I  don't  really  know  her,  but  I  know  who 
she  is.  She's  Milton's  cousin.  I  saw  the  old  lady 
who  is  with  her  when  with  Milton  yesterday  and 
was  introduced.  I  forget  the  name.  But  he  spoke 
of  his  cousin  who  was  here  and  hoped  I'd  meet  her. 
She's  Miss  Barbara  something,  and  from  northern 
Michigan.  Her  father  is  a  retired  judge  or  some- 
thing. We'll  lay  for  'em  when  the  show's  over,  and 
have  Milton  introduce  us.  Oh!  my  boy,  I'm  worth 
my  weight  in  gold!" 

The  exercises  seemed  longer  to  Sargent  than  to 
the  blithesome  Lathrop,  but  they  came  to  an  end  at 
last,  and  the  two  crowded  their  way  swiftly  to  the 
main  exit.  There  came  down  the  main  stairway  a 
young  man  accompanying  an  old  lady  and  a  young 
one,  the  young  one  having  red  hair.  Lathrop 
crowded  forward  effusively ;  he  grasped  Milton  by  the 
hand.  He  was  most  respectful  to  the  old  lady  and 
most  obsequious  when  presented  to  the  young  one, 
Miss  Barbara  Sloan.  Then  came  in  Sargent.  It 
was  all  formal  until  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  girl. 
He  was  rather  awkward  than  otherwise,  and  she, 
dignified  as  she  was,  blushed  a  little.  She  recog- 
nized him. 

6 


8o  THE    MAKING    OF    A    MAN. 

As  for  Lathrop,  he  stood  by  grinning  patronizingly. 
Billy  Barnes  came  along,  and  Lathrop  strolled  away 
with  him,  and  Sargent  knew  well  enough  what  the 
two  were  talking  and  laughing  about,  as  he  saw  the 
little  diagram  of  the  hall  in  Lathrop's  hand,  with 
Barnes  considering  it.  But  he  held  his  peace.  He 
was  content  with  the  outcome  of  the  day. 


A    NORTHWARD    DRIFT.  81 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  NORTHWARD  DRIFT. 

If  there  be  a  feature  of  a  landscape  different  from 
any  other  feature  of  any  other  landscape  in  the 
world,  it  is  the  pine  stump  fence  region  of  the 
Saginaw  Valley,  of  eastern  Michigan.  It  is  a 
strong  thing  all  alone  in  the  world.  The  pine 
stump,  dragged  from  the  earth  by  a  derrick,  oxen, 
men,  and  the  effect  of  much  loud  language,  lies 
upon  the  sward  looking  like  a  great  fanged  and 
tentacled  thing  uplifted  edgewise,  six  feet  high  and 
as  many  across.  It  will  last.  It  will  lie  there 
uninfluenced  when  the  heat  of  summer  works  and 
cracks  all  other  wood  exposed,  when  the  soaking 
rains  of  autumn  bring  their  slow  disintegration, 
when  the  fierce  cold  of  winter  makes  the  ice  bulge 
and  crack  in  all  interstices  anywhere,  when  spring 
brings  alternate  frost  and  sunshine ;  it  will  lie  there 
unchanged  while  the  hair  turns  gray  about  the 
temples  of  the  men  who  pulled  it  from  the  earth. 
So,  in  the  Saginaw  Valley  they  make  fences  of  the 
pine  tree  stumps,  piling  them  along  in  a  bristling 
row  about  a  field,  a  fence  to  last  and  defy. 

The  men  who  owned  farms  when  the  pine  tree 
stumps  were  to  be  had  could — if  they  were  wise 
enough  in  time — have  avoided  the  brush  fence,  the 
rail  fence  and  even,  for  a  period,  the  hedge  of  the 


82  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

future.  But  those  who  availed  themselves  of  the 
pine  tree  stump,  the  everlasting  devil-fish  on  edge, 
were  among  the  few  and  the  wiser  ones  of  the 
pioneers.  So  it  is  that,  as  you  go  on  the  railroad 
beside  what  they  call  the  "Thumb"  in  Michigan — 
that  is  where  there  is  something  like  the  thumb  of  a 
mitten  outstanding  northward  into  Lake  Huron  and 
protecting  Saginaw  Bay — you  see  these  strange 
fences  about  the  fields  which  lie  close  beside  the 
road. 

Nowhere  else  in  all  the  world  will  you  see  such 
fences — at  least  at  their  best.  Your  grandchildren 
will  not  see  them,  for  even  the  pine  roots  will  rot  in 
time,  and  then  will  come  whatever  may  be  the  fence 
of  the  future.  But,  so  long  as  they  exist,  the  stub- 
born things  bristling  about  the  fields,  they  will  be 
banners  of  a  race,  a  standard  set  up  to  tell  how 
certain  Anglo-Saxons  conquered  certain  soil.  About 
them  in  spring  grow  liverwort  and  pink  and  white 
areas  of  anemones.  And  there  are  mandrakes,  too, 
growing  along  the  sides  of  these  dragon-like  fences. 
You  can  see  them  near  Port  Huron  to-day,  and 
near  Seymour;  they  linger,  hoary  and  strong,  like 
Methuselah. 

To  the  village  on  the  shores  of  the  great  Lake, 
the  village  surrounded  by  farms  fenced  with  pine 
stumps,  came  Sargent  on  his  vacation.  It  was  not, 
to  the  uninitiated,  a  glorious  region.  There  to  the 
east,  to  be  sure,  was  the  vast  blue  lake,  and  the  air 
was  purified  by  its  drift  over  water,  or  scented  in  its 
drift  from  the  west  over  the  wood,  by  the  pines  still 
living,  because,  when  Attila  the  lumberman 


A    NORTHWARD    DRIFT.  83 

passed,  they  were  too  slender  for  sawing  into 
boards.  It  was  a  land  of  vigor,  but  there  was 
bareness,  and  the  dead  pine  here  and  there  was  a 
skeleton,  as  the  dead  pine  ever  must  be.  But  dead 
trees  respond  heartily  to  the  tap  of  the  red-headed 
woodpecker,  the  soil  had  produced  its  clover,  the 
bobolinks  were  everywhere,  the  bluebirds  had  nest- 
ing places  in  holes  of  the  pine  stump  fences,  and 
the  song  sparrow  was  all  about.  The  sun  fell  hotly 
on  the  sandy  reaches  of  the  roadways,  and  there 
was  too  much  glare,  but  the  air  one  breathed  was 
like  champagne  in  its  effect,  and  the  new  growth  of 
things  was  making  greenness  where  the  lumbermen 
had  been. 

To  Sargent  the  place  was  home,  and  what  we 
have  been  born  to  is  a  standard  all  our  lives.  To 
the  forest-born  the  forest  is  perfection ;  to  the  child 
of  the  desert,  no  doubt  a  stretch  of  yellow, 
unrelieved  to  the  horizon,  is  the  perfect  landscape. 

He  had  seen  more,  this  young  collegian,  he  of  the 
blundering  work  and  triumphant  athletics,  of  the 
red-haired  girl,  and  the  result  was  that  she  more 
and  more  fascinated  him.  He  had  been  earnest  and 
adroit,  had  been  most  deferential  to  the  aunt,  had 
been  much  about  the  two  during  the  brief  day  or  so 
of  Commencement  exercises,  and  had  been  invited, 
if  it  should  chance  that  he  visited  the  Northern 
Peninsula,  to  become  a  guest  at  the  Sloan  house- 
hold. He  had  learned  much  about  that  household. 

He  was  with  his  sisters  now,  and  there  were  good 
times  in  town  and  country,  and  a  proud  father  and 
mother  made  much  of  him,  but  he  was  mooning 


84  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

over  the  girl  with  the  red  hair.  He  thought  foolish 
thoughts.  There  were  old  pine  tree  trunks  along 
the  roadside  where  he  drove.  There  were  worms  in 
the  shallow  depths  of  the  decaying  tall  white  trunks, 
and  how  to  find  these  worms  the  red-headed  wood- 
peckers well  knew.  They  knew  how  to  get  at  the 
heart  of  things.  He'd  ride  along,  this  Sargent, 
sitting  dreaming  in  a  buck-board,  and  see  the  red- 
headed woodpeckers  get  what  they  wanted  through 
the  decaying  shell.  "I'm  a  worm,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "and  she's  the  red-headed  woodpecker. 
They're  not  slender  enough,  though.  The  worm 
must  turn!"  he  would  sometimes  say,  half  aloud — 
' '  I  must  get  after  the  red-head ! ' ' 

He  had  learned  that  Barbara  Sloan  was  the  sole 
child  of  Lysander  Sloan,  who  had  been  an  associate 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  state ;  who  had  not, 
like  others  of  his  party,  been  re-elected  when  his 
term  expired,  and  who,  in  half  disgust,  had  invested 
the  small  money  in  his  possession  in  a  woodland 
area  of  northern  Michigan,  had  built  a  house  and 
improved  its  surroundings,  and  was  trying  to  live 
on  something  very  nearly  resembling  nothing, 
aside  from  what  the  cleared  area  of  his  tract  pro- 
duced. In  time,  the  tract,  as  a  whole,  would  be 
valuable.  Meanwhile  the  small  cleared  space  with 
intelligently  directed  work  upon  its  acres  did  not 
yield  much  save  food.  There  was  no  surplus  of 
ready  money.  The  daughter  had  graduated  at  a 
famous  Eastern  school,  then  had  come  to  the  place 
in  the  woods  and  had  been  brave  with  her  some- 
what broken  father.  Once  in  a  while,  as  finances 


A    NORTHWARD    DRIFT.  85 

allowed,  she  emerged  into  the  world  again.  So 
Sargent  had  met  her.  He  had  talked  with  her 
often  before  he  left  the  University,  when  the  stu- 
dents and  guests  streamed  away  upon  trains  at 
almost  the  same  time. 

It  is  hard  to  describe  a  red-haired  girl,  even  in  a 
story,  and,  for  that  matter,  hard  to  describe  the 
moods  and  blood  and  force  and  thought  and  love 
of  a  junior  in  an  American  university.  But  the 
junior,  if  he  be  one  of  the  leading  men,  is  ordinarily 
a  fine  fellow,  and  the  red-haired  girl,  with  cultivated 
mind  added  to  her  temperament,  is  surely  a  telling 
and  piquantly  dangerous  addition  to  some  equations 
in  this  world  of  ours. 

Sargent  went  to  parties  with  his  sisters,  talked  of 
grave  affairs  with  his  father  and  hung  about  his 
mother.  He  did  some  shooting  and  fishing,  and 
was  foolish  with  a  small  sailboat  at  times  when  a 
storm  was  coming  on,  but  that,  though  dallying,  he 
was  going  to  spend  a  week  or  two  in  northern 
Michigan  before  he  returned  to  the  University  was 
as  sure  as  that  the  sun  would  shine  again.  He 
knew  that.  He  had  talked  with  Barbara  Sloan 
about  her  home,  about  the  log  house  with  a  wing  at 
the  end  of  the  sloping  cleared  space.  He  wondered 
just  how  the  hollyhocks,  of  which  she  had  once 
casually  spoken,  grew  along  the  rough  fence's  side. 
He  had  imaginings  about  the  pinks,  and  wagered 
with  himself  as  to  whether  or  not  they  were  north- 
east or  southwest  of  the  east  window  of  the  front 
room  of  the  house?  Above  all,  he  wondered  what 
she  would  say  when,  some  day,  he  came  up  the 


86  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

pathway  from  the  gate?  Something  kept  pulling 
and  pulling.  He  hadn't  much  money,  but,  one  day, 
he  said  he  was  going  north  for  most  of  what 
remained  of  the  vacation,  and  he  had  a  little  talk 
with  his  father,  to  whom  he  explained  nothing,  but 
who  was  a  real  man,  and  who  had  faith  in  his  blood; 
and  then  there  was  a  railroad  trip  across  land 
where  apple  trees  grew  and  where  barns  were 
painted,  and  then  across  barrens,  and  then  where 
sugar  maples  grew  close  enough  and  small  enough 
for  thickets,  with  brooks  springing  in  their  midst, 
seeking  Lake  Huron  or  Lake  Michigan,  as  the 
mood  of  the  brook  might  be,  and  then  a  ride  in  a 
steamboat  across  the  Straits  and  a  buck-board  ride, 
a  ride  of  many  miles,  ending  in  a  drive  beside  a 
creek  where  the  scrub  oaks  were  small  and  the 
birches  were  prominent,  and  then  a  climbing 
entrance  to  a  clearing  where  there  was  a  log  house 
worth  seeing,  though  unpretentious,  because  all 
about  it  were  the  signs  of  soul  and  of  culture  within 
the  rude  wooden  walls.  The  boy's  heart — you 
must  remember  that  he  waxs  not,  at  this  time,  much 
more  than  a  boy,  for  what  is  one  at  twenty? — beat 
very  fast.  Here  was  Her  Castle!  He  had  come  and 
didn't  know  what  to  say  or  do  now  that  he  was  here! 
He  had  come  because  he  couldn't  help  himself. 

Sargent  had  hired  the  buck-board  man  at  the 
little  village  of  Conway,  the  County  Seat,  close  by 
the  railroad,  and  ten  or  eleven  miles  from  the  Sloan 
residence.  He  had  reached  Conway  by  a  foot  trip, 
with  many  directions.  There  was  but  one  horse  to 
the  buck-board,  but  he  clambered  easily  along  up- 


A    NORTHWARD    DRIFT.  87 

hill,  for  the  wild  country  road  was  good.  The 
driver  had  learned  his  fare's  name — very  adroit  are 
these  drivers — and  had  learned  in  an  undetermined 
way,  that  he,  the  fare,  must  be  respected,  else  there 
might  happen  something  unpleasant.  The  driver 
had  found  out  much  on  the  way,  and  guessed  more, 
though  there  had  been  little  talk.  He,  though, 
poor  hanger-on  of  a  country  tavern  stable  that  he 
was,  in  comparison  with  Sargent,  was  as  a  banker  to 
a  beggar  when  they  reached  the  gateway  to  the 
paradise  in  the  stiff  region  of  the  northern  peninsula 
of  Michigan.  The  man  with  the  buck-board  was 
told  to  wait.  Sargent  was  what  athletic  experts 
call  "a  good  man,"  but  his  knees  had  a  funny  feel- 
ing about  them  as  he  went  up  the  sanded  path 
between  the  grasses  from  the  road  toward  the  door- 
way of  the  house.  The  hollyhocks  did  him  a  little 
good,  and  so,  in  even  a  greater  degree,  did  a  bed  of 
pansies.  Their  faces  smiled  encouragement  at  him. 
He  was  half-way  to  the  door  when  a  huge  collie 
bolted  out  from  somewhere,  and  leaped  forward 
fiercely  until  within  a  yard  of  him.  Then  the  collie 
stopped.  It's  queer  how  we've  bred  up  so  close  to 
ourselves  some  breeds  of  dogs.  The  collie  knows  a 
gentleman. 

There  is  an  expression  in  our  tongue  comparing 
strong  attraction  to  being  "drawn  by  a  single  hair." 
Sargent  had  traveled  miles,  drawn,  not  by  a 
single  strand  but  by  a  wealth  of  red  hair.  Imagine 
his  condition.  He  stalked  up  the  pathway  and 
rapped  on  the  door,  because  there  was  no  bell.  And 
the  red-haired  girl  appeared. 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

CHAPTER   X. 

AN  OASIS  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Clever  young  women  are  more  self-possessed  than 
young  men.  And  this  particular  young  woman  was 
no  exception  to  the  rule.  There  was  a  little  start  as 
her  gaze  met  that  of  Sargent,  then  swift  recovery,  a 
smile,  and  extended  hand. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Sargent.  What 
good  fortune  to  your  friends  has  brought  you  so  far 
into  the  wilderness?" 

The  young  man,  by  far  the  more  disturbed  of  the 
two,  had  by  this  time  somewhat  regained  control  of 
himself.  As  he  looked  at  the  creature  before  him, 
there  came  an  almost  overmastering  desire  to  blurt 
out  the  whole  truth,  to  tell  what  had  brought  him 
there,  but  common  sense  prevailed. 

He  had  a  somewhat  reasonable  explanation  at 
hand.  Twenty  miles  farther  on,  where  the  great 
copper  mines  were,  he  had  a  college  friend  who  had 
often  invited  him  to  make  a  summer  visit.  This 
visit  was  the  ostensible  object  of  his  journey,  and 
he  told  Barbara  of  where  he  was  going,  and  said 
that  he  was  perhaps  too  venturesome  in  turning 
aside  to  visit  her.  But — he  wanted  to  see  her. 

The  girl  was  perfectly  at  ease.  "But  you  cannot 
possibly  reach  Minkville  to-day,"  she  said,  "at  least 
until  very  late.  Send  away  your  man  with  the 
buck-board  and  do  us  a  kindness.  A  visitor  is  too 


AN    OASIS    IN    THE   FOREST.  89 

valuable  a  prize  here  to  be  allowed  an  easy  escape. 
You  must  meet  my  father  and  the  people  about 
here,  and  the  fishing  is  better  here,  too,  than  it  is 
near  Minkville.  We  can  send  you  on  at  any  time." 

Sargent's  face  must  have  shown  his  delight.  He 
accepted  without  excuse,  went  down  the  path  to  the 
buck-board  man  and  settled  with  that  person 
promptly.  His  heart  beat  fast.  Here  he  was,  a 
guest  in  the  house  of  the  Red  and  White  goddess ! 
It  had  paid  to  venture! 

There  was  due  attention  paid  the  guest,  and  when 
Sargent  met  the  father  of  his  divinity,  he  found 
him  generously  hospitable  and  commonplace  as  to 
reception,  and  dignified  and  cultivated  as  to  appear- 
ance and  conversation.  He  was  exceptionally  fond 
of  young  people.  In  his  leisurely  talk  the  scholarly 
old  judge  was  delightful.  To  him  the  visit  of  a 
young  man  fresh  from  college  was  a  rare  pleasure, 
and  he  showed  it. 

It  would  have  been  a  study  had  there  been  some 
knowing  one  to  see  all  that  followed  when  the  old 
man  and  the  young  one  met,  and,  later,  talked 
together ;  the  one  more  absorbed  in  his  theories  than 
in  his  red-haired  daughter,  though  almost  living  in 
her,  and  the  other,  young,  vigorous  and  hopeful, 
absorbed  in  the  girl  entirely,  and  anxious  to  make 
a  great  friend  of  her  father.  That  he  did  with  no 
great  difficulty. 

An  exceedingly  learned  and  clever  man  was  Judge 
Sloan,  and  his  family  had  grown  up  in  comfort  with 
him  until  he  had  reached  the  bench  of  the  Circuit 
Court.  Then,  later,  and  deservedly,  because  of  his 


90  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A    MAN. 

marked  fitness  for  the  place  he  occupied,  because  of 
the  direct  justice  and  soundness  of  his  opinions,  he 
was  nominated  to  the  Supreme  bench  of  the  state. 
It  was  almost  understood  that  he  would,  in  time,  if 
elected,  be  the  head  of  that  highest  tribunal  of  the 
commonwealth.  He  made  in  the  political  race  a 
great  showing  while  all  other  members  of  his  party 
who  were  candidates  were  defeated  by  a  strong- 
majority.  He  was  almost  elected,  despite  the 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  more  or  less  weak- 
minded  and  fluctuating  force,  which  makes  first  one 
party  win  and  then  the  other.  He  had  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars  in  money  and  he  knew  northern 
Michigan.  His  wife  had  died  after  but  a  few  years 
of  happy  life  with  him.  He  had  in  the  world  but 
his  daughter  to  live  for.  He  bought  the  land  in  the 
forest  in  the  North  and  made  the  buildings  and 
brought  the  girl  there,  and  adopted  a  new  mode  of 
life,  depending  more  and  more  upon  the  society  of 
books  as  the  world  of  cultivated  men  and  women 
slipped  away  from  him.  He  had  felt  his  daughter's 
absence  while  she  was  away  at  school,  keenly,  and 
since  her  return  had  been  exceptionally  happy  in  a 
new  way,  in  her  companionship.  All  this  Sargent 
saw  and  felt  and  heard  as  the  days  of  his  brief  visit 
slipped  away. 

A  tall,  rather  masculine  looking  woman,  of 
unmistakable  Norse  ancestry,  was  the  mainstay  of 
the  kitchen,  in  this  house  of  logs.  She  was  a  strong 
character,  and  interesting  to  Sargent  by  reason  of 
the  native  simplicity,  tinged  with  sadness,  of  her 
talk  and  ways.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  Norwegian 


AN    OASIS    IN    THE    FOREST.  91 

farmer,  who  had  been  one  of  the  early  settlers  in  the 
wilderness,  and  her  son  Michael,  a  queer  combina- 
tion of  wildness,  mischief  and  music,  was  her 
assistant,  and  the  general  factotum  of  the  household. 
The  two  made  a  study  of  themselves,  and  an  inter- 
esting addition  to  what  commanded  attention  in  and 
about  the  household  of  the  Sloans. 

Upon  the  garden,  and  the  garden  means  the 
enclosed  space  all  around  the  house  in  northern 
Michigan,  Sargent  gazed  with  interest  in  the  early 
morning,  after  his  first  night's  rest,  beholding  in 
the  little  area  reclaimed  from  the  Michigan  forest 
the  intimate  surroundings  of  the  every-day  life  of 
Barbara.  It  reminded  him  of  what  he  had  seen  in 
another  dooryard  in  another  place  and  with  other 
surroundings  fifteen  or  twenty  years  before,  in  the 
home  of  his  infancy  and  early  childhood.  Again  he 
saw  the  golden  coreopsis  and  the  phlox  and  the 
"bouncing  betties,"  each  in  their  places,  from  close 
beside  the  house  where  the  clay  had  been  banked  up 
for  winter,  and  beside  the  pathway,  the  coreopsis 
leaning  flauntingly  toward  the  late  September  sun 
and  saying,  "We'll  die  together  gently,  and  the 
frosts  will  find  us  gone."  And  the  asters  and 
dahlias  said,  "The  golden  coreopsis  knows  things. " 
Anyway,  that  is  what  Sargent's  sisters  had  once 
declared  these  flowers  said. 

Flower  gardens  show  ancestry.  You  can  tell  the 
Puritan  from  the  Pagan.  We,  that  is,  we  who 
know,  can  tell  from  the  flower  garden  what  kind  of 
people  are  living  in  a  house  we  may  be  passing. 
This  flower  garden  in  northern  Michigan,  where  the 


92  THE    LAUNCHING   OF  A  MAN. 

arbutus  has  most  scent  in  spring,  and  where  the 
hoarfrost  is  deepest  and  whitest  in  autumn,  where 
the  beechnuts  are  big  and  the  walnuts  are  small, 
this  was  a  place  with  a  southern  slope  and  loamy 
soil,  and  a  woman — the  conditions  for  a  garden;  a 
garden  which,  beside  the  other  flowers  named,  had 
hollyhocks  and  old-fashioned  pinks,  the  pinks  you 
smell  and  remember,  and  peonies  and  phlox,  and 
lady-slippers  and  all  the  rest.  They  were  in  the 
southern  slope  from  the  house  to  the  gate,  and, 
somehow,  it  seemed  as  if  each  flower  had  at  last 
been  admitted  to  its  heritage  and  was  content  and 
glad,  and  had  only  now  to  pay  its  debt  to  the  other 
things,  and  be  as  glorious  as  it  could.  The  flowers 
which  Barbara  tended,  the  flowers  upon  which 
Barbara  looked,  certainly  responded  to  her  with  love 
and  reverence.  She,  the  red-haired,  was  as  glowing 
with  color  as  they.  She  was  close  to  nature,  which 
is  respondent.  This  may  have  been  only  lover's 
nonsense,  but  how  the  flowers  grew  and  blossomed ! 
From  the  gate  extended  a  sanded  path  to  the 
house,  a  path  with  a  succession  of  planks  laid 
along  its  middle  in  a  line,  oaken  things  two  inches 
thick.  The  sand  was  clean,  of  course,  because 
things  could  not  grow  in  its  non-nourishment;  but 
on  either  side  was  the  broad  grass  area  relieved  by 
the  cultivated,  flower-bearing,  brilliant  patches, 
which  made  the  place  so  beautiful.  The  old- 
fashioned  grass  pinks,  now  out  of  blossom,  had  their 
beds,  which  lay  blue-green  in  their  places.  The 
fence  on  either  side  of  the  gate  was  loved  and 
leaned  to  by  the  rows  of  hollyhocks,  and  still  farther 


AN    OASIS    IN    THE    FOREST.  93 

away  the  sunflowers  swung  to  greet  the  sun.  And 
there  were  more  flowers  here  in  their  season, 
larkspur,  and  sweet-williams,  and  sweet-briar ;  there 
was  bergamot,  which  was  fine  to  crush  between 
your  fingers,  and  johnny-jump-ups,  most  hardy  of 
the  violets  and  grandmother  to  the  pansies,  and 
marigolds,  most  luxurious  and  symmetrical.  There 
were  caraway  patches  over  by  the  fence,  here  and 
there.  Outside  grew  sumach  and  elderberry 
bushes,  cousins  of  the  house-bred  things  inside. 
About  the  log  house,  climbing  up  its  sides,  was  the 
Michigan  rose,  one  of  the  sweetest  roses  in  all  the 
world. 

There  was  the  back-yard,  too,  and  what  a  back- 
yard it  was !  There  was  a  buckwheat  field,  a  little 
one,  but  wonderful  when  in  bloom,  for  there  must 
be  buckwheat  cakes  in  fall  and  winter;  still,  the 
buckwheat  field  was  only  a  sort  of  aside  thing. 
Here  in  the  clearing,  which  reached  up  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  were  raised  the  vegetables  and  light 
fruit  which  furnished  food  for  the  family.  Currant 
bushes,  and  the  wild  raspberry  transplanted  from 
the  clearing  rioted  here.  Great  potatoes  grew  in 
the  sandy  soil  of  the  field,  which,  drained  and  well- 
hoed,  hung  downward  from  the  woodland  toward 
the  creek.  There  were  lighter  patches,  too,  where 
melons  grew  to  only  moderate  size  but  which 
attained  the  flavor  of  their  zone.  Flavor  goes  with 
zone,  increasing  in  richness  toward  the  poles.  As 
for  the  other  things,  well,  the  judge  knew  what 
good  things  were.  He  knew  that  young  beets,  just 
little  things  an  inch  or  so  long,  made  the  best 


94  THE  LAUNCHING  OP  A  MAN. 

"greens"  in  the  world;  he  knew  asparagus,  one  of 
nature's  greatest  gifts  to  man;  he  knew  the  summer 
squash,  which  fascinates  with  its  prodigal  great 
blossoms  and  scalloped  fruit,  and  the  Hubbard 
squash,  the  northern  sweet  potato;  he  knew 
parsnips  and  carrots,  and  all  things  in  their  degree, 
and  all  of  them  were  coaxed  and  tended  in  the 
yellow-gray  kitchen  garden  stretching  northward 
from  the  house  till  the  background,  with  its  green 
lines,  was  lost  in  the  black  gown  of  the  woodland. 
There  was  a  blackened  stump  here  and  there,  which 
had  not  burned  well,  and,  at  greater  distances,  a 
stub  or  two,  standing  higher. 

Of  cabbages,  the  judge  made  almost  a  specialty. 
He  marshaled  them  in  long  lines,  like  ranks  of 
hard-headed  soldiers,  but  it  is  hardly  worth  while 
to  speak  of  cabbages  in  telling  of  this  garden.  The 
judge  knew  his  vegetables.  The  little  field  was 
excellent  to  see.  The  judge  had  ideas  of  an  orchard, 
and  there  were  trees,  some  of  them  quite  well 
grown,  some  puny  as  yet,  which  sprung  up  all  over 
the  sweep  of  land,  and  dotted  it  with  green  touches. 
In  these  were  nests  of  birds  that  sang.  They 
made  an  orchestra  each  bright  morning  or  bright 
evening  in  the  combined  though  unblending 
volume  when  was  trilled  and  flourished  out  the 
story  of  how  near  God  is  to  earth.  It  was  an 
inspiring  little  piece  of  ground  to  look  upon,  this 
field,  for  a  man  with  eyes  and  brain,  but,  above  all, 
to  one  with  perception  of  what  on  earth  is  related  to 
heart  and  soul. 


SWEET    CROSS    PURPOSES.  95 

CHAPTER  XL 

SWEET  CROSS  PURPOSES. 

The  facility  with  which  Sargent  adapted  himself 
to  the  home  life  of  the  household  was  astonishing. 
The  judge  fancied  him  greatly,  and  their  talks 
together  were  most  edifying.  Even  the  rather 
somber  Tilda  and  the  silent  Michael  appeared 
friendly  to  him,  and,  as  for  Barbara,  she  offered  a 
somewhat  queenly  comradeship.  The  two  were 
much  together,  most  of  the  time  along  the  creek 
or  in  the  forest,  for  Sargent's  instinct  led  him 
thither  as  a  buck  seeks  his  haunt,  and  Barbara  was 
herself  a  lover  of  all  nature.  There  was  no  love- 
making,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  something 
which  made  ever  a  hunger  in  the  man  and  in  the 
woman,  an  alertness  against  any  exhibition  of  senti- 
mentality. He  was  but  a  great  man-boy,  and 
undeniably  in  love  with  this  slender,  red-haired 
maiden,  who  puzzled  him  so  much.  She  was  not  in 
love  with  him,  in  the  way  a  woman  should  love  a 
man,  if  she  loved  him  at  all.  Thus,  with  the  rela- 
tions as  they  were,  she  had  all  the  vantage. 

They  went  out  together,  these  two,  the  graceful, 
thoughtful,  youthful  lady,  and  the  bungling  animal 
we  call  a  very  young  man  of  education.  They 
walked  often  down  the  path  to  the  southward  where 
the  creek  quarreled  with  the  stones,  knowing  some- 
how that  it  would  get  free  of  them  presently,  and 

7 


96  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

lose  its  own  entity  in  blending  with  the  great  lake, 
but  would  have  no  more  stones  to  hurt,  just  as, 
some  say,  a  soul  goes  out  to  mingle  with  and  be  lost 
in  the  Great  Unknown. 

But  Barbara,  being  a  woman,  and  furthermore 
being  a  woman  with  red  hair,  was,  in  a  manner, 
what  we  call  "interested."  The  hours  the  two 
passed  together  were  enticing  to  her.  The  man 
showed  the  woman  a  host  of  things  she  had  never 
known  about  the  wood  life.  He  would  explain  to  her 
the  story  told  by  the  spoor  of  all  the  creek's  small 
creatures.  He  would  show  her  where  the  raccoon, 
the  tracks  of  which  looked  like  those  made  by  the 
feet  of  a  little  baby,  had  feasted  with  his  mate  on  the 
fresh  pink  clams,  and  would  tell  of  the  happy  family 
living  far  aloft  in  the  hollowed  heart  of  the  big  dead 
tree.  He  would  make  interesting  to  her  the  stories 
of  the  mink  and  the  muskrat  and  the  otter,  and  even 
of  the  tiny,  undeveloped  creatures  crawling  about 
and  making  criss-cross  lines  on  the  creek's  sandy  bed. 
And  ever,  throughout  what  he  said,  ran  a  strain  of 
half-way  love-making,  venturesome  but  fearful,  and 
sometimes  reproachful,  because  of  her  irresponsive- 
ness. 

The  man  had  a  fancy  for  rising  early  and  rejoicing 
in  the  inhalation  of  the  champagne  morning  air, 
and,  sometimes,  he  prevailed  upon  her  to  go  out 
with  him  on  these  ante-breakfast  excursions.  He 
was  boastful  one  morning. 

"There  are  a  hundred  rhapsodies  over  sunset  to 
one  over  sunrise,"  said  he,  "and  the  reason  is 
obvious ;  the  laziness  of  mankind. ' ' 


SWEET    CROSS    PURPOSES.  97 

The  girl  laughed.  "Possibly  that  is  true.  This 
morning  at  least  is  delicious.  Are  the  colors  of 
sunrise  more  delicate  and  tender  than  those  of 
sunset?  It  seems  to  me  that  at  sunrise  only  pink 
and  rose  prevail — that  the  more  gorgeous  colors  are 
always  subdued  by  grays. ' ' 

"Oh,  that  is  because  you  have  seen  only  half  a 
dozen  sunrises  in  your  life,  and  the  memory  of  them 
becomes  clouded  by  your  'grays.'  The  sun  rises 
in  a  riot  of  fiery  splendor,  I  tell  you,  I  who  have 
watched  it  a  thousand  mornings. ' ' 

"Oh,  sage,  live  forever!"  mockingly. 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her  gibe.  "Yes,"  he 
mused,  "I  have  seen  many  a  fair  sunrise,  but  never 
any  to  equal  this.  You  see  there's  a  great  deal  in 
environment.  Alone,  one  cannot  get  the  whole  of 
anything,  even  of  a  sunrise,  and  there  is  always — " 

He  stopped  clumsily,  realizing  that  he  was  ever 
wandering  toward  the  danger  line,  for  the  face  of 
the  young  woman  had  taken  on  its  anti-sentimental 
expression. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  about  that,"  said  she.  "Tell  me 
about  the  time  when  you  were  in  camp  in  mid- 
winter, and  of  the  pine  woods,  when  the  snow  was 
four  feet  deep,  and  all  that." 

"It  was  very  cold,"  he  began,  "but  I  have  had, 
since  then,  a  greater  experience  in  coldness. ' ' 

"  'The  owl  for  all  his  feathers  was  a-cold,'  "  she 
recited,  in  a  shivery  voice.  "But  go  on  and  tell 
me  about  that  pine-woods  experience.  What  did 
you  eat  and  what  did  you  do?" 

And  so  Sargent  was  compelled  to  tell  the  story  of 


98  THE    LAUNCHING  OF    A    MAN. 

a  winter  experience  to  which  he  had  made  some 
chance  allusion.  What  man  ever  reached  his  goal 
in  talking  when  opposed  by  feminine  evasion?  Yet 
ever  he  returned  to  the  tentative  love  assault, 
advancing  cautiously,  only  to  'find  the  bridge  raised 
and  the  portcullis  down.  There  were,  however,  fair 
parleyings  from  the  battlements,  that  and  nothing 
more. 

Sometimes  the  woman  would  be  the  seeker,  for 
she  was  very  curious  about  the  man.  "Tell  me 
about  yourself, ' '  she  said  one  day.  ' '  I  know  almost 
nothing  of  you  yet.  What  are  you  in  your  domain? 
Are  you  going  to  be  a  brigand,  or  study  for  the 
ministry?  Have  you  sisters,  and  what  are  they 
like?  And  have  you  a  favorite  among  them?  And 
what  is  she  like?" 

"I  would  like  to  be  a  brigand,"  was  his  reply,  "but 
circumstances  beyond  me  prevent,  and  so  I  am  only 
going  to  be  a  civil  engineer,  with  the  accent  on  the 
'civil,'  if  you  please,  Miss  Sloan.  I  couldn't  go  into 
the  ministry,  even  if  I  wished,  because,  if  I  did,  I 
should  want  to  be  a  missionary,  for  the  sake  of  the 
varied  experiences  and  adventures,  and  there  are 
tenets  connected  with  the  present  missionary 
system  to  which  I  could  not  possibly  subscribe." 

"That's  strange,"  she  commented.  "Will  you  give 
me  an  illustration?" 

"There  are  a  number  of  things  with  which  I  cannot 
agree,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  inclined  to  the  belief 
that  the  chief  fault  of  the  missionaries  relates  to 
angels.  They  do  not  teach  the  right  sort  of  angels. 
Now,  I  take  it,  an  angel  is  about  the  most 


SWEET   CROSS   PURPOSES.  99 

picturesque  thing  in  Christian  tradition.  I  know 
that,  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  didn't  care  to  go  and  live 
with  the  saints,  but  the  angels  caught  me.  So,  too, 
they  would  catch  black  or  yellow  people,  if  their 
angels  were  of  the  right  sort — if  they  were  not 
white — but  who  wants  to  go  to  be  a  saved  saint  to 
be  bossed  over  by  angels  of  another  color?  Preach 
black  angels  or  yellow  angels  and  you'll  make  con- 
verts from  Zanzibar  to  Pekin.  But  my  ideas  would, 
I  fear,  be  considered  revolutionary,  if  not 
unorthodox ! ' ' 

"What  a  theologian  is  being  wasted!"  said  she. 
"But  what  about  your  sisters?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  have  three,  and  I  am  fond  of  them. 
If  there  is  one  of  whom  I  am  more  fond  than  of  the 
others,  I  think  it's  Bessie.  She's  little  and  has 
brown  hair,  and  is  in  love  with  her  brother.  I  wish 
other  people  would  follow  her  example, ' '  he  added 
reflectively. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  imperatively.  "Tell  me  more 
about  her.  What  do  you  do  together?" 

"Oh,  nothing  in  particular,  we're  just  birds  of  a 
feather.  We  take  delight  in  caring  for  each  other, 
and  in  being  impractical  and  having  fancies.  We 
live  in  Vagueland,  Bessie  and  I.  Don't  you  know 
Vagueland?" 

Barbara  replied  that  as  to  Vagueland  her  geo- 
graphical knowledge  was  incomplete. 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  know  just  where  it 
is  myself,  but  it  lies  somewhere  between  Kalamazoo 
and  Dreamville.  Bessie  and  I  never  have  any 
trouble  in  finding  it." 


too  THE    LAUNCHING    OP  A  MAN. 

"What  do  you  two  do  when  you  are  in  Vague- 
land?" 

"Well,  our  adventures  are  partly  military  and 
partly  matrimonial.  Bessie  usually  marries  a  prince 
of  excellent  moral  character,  and  I  lead  a  successful 
army,  or  accomplish  great  engineering  feats,  and 
the  girl  I  want  is  always  good  to  me.  I  wish  this 
were  Vagueland!" 

Here  again  was  occasion  for  diverting  the  con- 
versation, but  Barbara  was  insatiate.  "Were  you 
ever  in  love?"  she  demanded. 

"Do  you  mean  up  to  date,  or  just  in  the  past?" 

"Oh,  just  in  the  past,"  she  said,  impatiently. 
"Don't  be  foolish.  Were  you  ever  in  love  before 
you  went  to  college?" 

' '  Desperately. ' ' 

"Were  you  rejected?" 

"W — e — 11 — not  exactly.  In  fact,  my  sweetheart 
was  very  good  to  me.  She  made  much  of  me  until 
the  day  she  was  married  to  another  fellow." 

"Then  she  must  have  been  a  hard-hearted 
woman,"  and  the  girl's  eyes  flashed  ajittle  as  she 
said  it. 

"It  would  almost  seem  so  from  the  bare  relation 
of  the  facts,  yet  the  plea  that  I  was  only  twelve 
while  she  was  twenty-nine  at  the  time  of  our  affair, 
seemed  to  be  accepted  as  a  degree  of  palliation  by 
our  mutual  friends.  She  belonged  to  what  might  be 
called  the  horse-hair  sofa  epoch,  and  she  was  a  good 
girl,  with  her  hair  in  a  net.  She  has  four  children 
now,  and  they  are  fine. ' ' 

"You  are  but  trifling,"   declared  the  indignant 


SWEET    CROSS    PURPOSES.  101 

Barbara.  "Have  you  been  engaged  in  no  love 
affair  of  comparatively  modern  date?" 

"I  don't  think  there  has  been  anything  fully 
deserving  the  title,"  he  said,  musingly.  "There 
is  a  friend  of  my  sisters  who  is,  in  many  respects, 
the  most  beautiful  creature  upon  whom  human  eyes 
have  ever  rested;  everybody  raves  over  her,  and 
my  sisters,  except  Bessie,  think  I  should  devote 
myself  to  her.  She'd  make  what  we  call  a  'model 
wife. '  ' ' 

"Why  don't  you  make  love  to  her?" 

"Because  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  her  if  I 
tried.  She  lacks  the  understanding,  emotion.  I 
don't  suppose  Cicero  could  have  convinced  a  fish  or 
a  canary  bird.  Who  can  play  without  a  musical 
instrument — a  piano,  fiddle,  or  harp?"  he  added, 
laughing.  "There  isn't  a  hypnotist  in  the  world 
who  could  affect  a  dressed  dummy  in  a  shop 
window.  I  know  I'm  mixing  my  similes,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  She  has  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school, 
an  excellent  education,  a  well-to-do  father,  a  sort  of 
dimpled  dignity  of  face,  big  blue  eyes  and  wavy 
flaxen  hair.  I  think  it's  the  hair  that  disagrees  with 
me  most.  Do  you  know  I  think  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  character  in  hair?"  And  he  gazed  earnestly 
upon  her  crown. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  look  at  me  that  way,"  she 
said. 

"You  do!  Well,  the  expression  you  see  upon  my 
face  just  now  is  intended  to  represent  undisguised 
admiration. ' ' 

She  said  that  it  looked  like  illness,  but  that  she 


102  THE    LAUNCHING   OF  A  MAN. 

would   take  him  at    his  word.     Appearances  were 
deceiving. 

Once  or  twice  Barbara  was  nearly  lured  into 
earnestness  by  the  ever-seeking  Sargent.  One  day 
he  led  her  into  what  was  almost  a  debate  regarding 
the  relative  love-perceptiveness  and  faithfulness  of 
men  and  women,  he  became  almost  eloquent  in  his 
declaration  that  men  were  truer  and  tenderer ;  and 
he  felt  what  he  said,  for  his  sensibilities  had  been 
disturbed.  He  told  of  how  a  man  beatifies  the 
individual  goddess,  of  the  purity  and  lastingness  of 
it;  how  men  have  led  their  squadrons,  written 
books,  controlled  the  councils  of  nations,  or  triumphed 
in  mere  money-making  for  it,  and  how  the  ideal  and 
idolized  "She"  may  be  pretty  and  good  and  thought- 
ful, but  be  hard  and  calculating  and  not  appreciative 
at  all,  not  half  understanding  the  devotion  that  is 
given  her.  Though  some  great  women,  like  men, 
do  understand,  he  argued.  "And  the  worst  of  it 
is,"  he  declared,  "that  the  greater  the  man  and  the 
more  forceful,  the  greater  is  his  loving  and  his 
possible  suffering.  Ever  and  ever  the  giant  among 
men  comes  back  to  the  feminine  soul,  the  maybe 
helpful  mate,  upon  whom  he  rests  and  who  gives 
him  life  and  strength.  It  is  for  her  he  accomplishes, 
because  she  is  a  part  of  his  life.  It  is  good  for  him. 
Where  did  they  find  Alfred  before  his  greatest 
battle  with  the  Danes?  He  was  in  his  tent,  set  far 
apart,  and  the  woman  he  loved  was  washing  his  long 
hair.  They  had  to  call  him  away  wet-headed  from 
her  lap.  Who  says  he  did  not  think  the  better  and 
fight  the  better  for  it!  Do  men  so  inspirit  women?" 


SWEET    CROSS    PURPOSES.  103 

Barbara  was  indignant.  "Of  course  they  do — 
when  they  are  the  right  men, ' '  she  added  pointedly. 

And  Sargent's  heart  fell,  but  he  continued,  in 
boyish  emotion.  "It  is  the  man  who  guards  and 
fights,  and  the  woman  who  forgets.  There  was  no 
grass  on  the  tomb  of  Pericles  when  Aspasia  had 
another  lover.  The  Angle  hunted  the  she-wolf 
down  for  a  cloak  for  the  girl  to  wear.  She  fled  with 
the  Briton  foeman.  They  were  your  ancestors  and 
mine,  and  the  women  have  been  doing  the  same 
thing  ever  since — the  lighter  ones. ' ' 

And  so  the  days  passed.  When  Sargent  felt  that 
he  could  stay  no  longer,  he  went  away,  making, 
before  his  return  home,  a  short  visit  to  his  con- 
venient friend  of  the  copper  region.  The  young 
fellow  left  the  girl  of  his  heart  with  unspoken, 
forcibly  suppressed  feelings.  He  was  not  a  whit 
downcast,  though,  so  strong  was  his  youthful  hope 
and  faith.  "She  must  love  me  in  time,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "It  is  true  I  don't  deserve  it,  but  just 
because  I  love  her  so,  she  must  love  me!" 

And  nothing  could  shake  this  belief. 


104  THE   LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"LOVE  WILL  FIND  OUT  THE  WAY." 

Not  remarkable  for  its  vigor  was  the  first  month's 
work  of  Sargent  at  the  University  in  the  junior 
year.  Ever  between  him  and  the  pages  before  him 
came  visions  of  a  fair  face  and  of  woodland 
stretches,  but  Time,  the  balm-bearer,  is  as  kind  to 
the  young  as  to  the  old.  And  enforced  work  is  a 
great  sedative.  With  ends  to  attain,  the  youth 
became  once  more  engrossed  in  the  labor  of  learn- 
ing, and  could  reason  more  objectively.  Besides, 
there  came  occasional  letters  from  Northern 
Michigan,  piquant,  interesting,  not  altogether 
satisfying,  but  still  forming  a  link  between  two 
people. 

Sargent's  own  letters  in  reply  were,  like  his  con- 
duct on  his  visit,  somewhat  uncraftily  concealed 
attempts  at  love-making,  held  within  reasonable 
limits  by  prudential  considerations. 

And,  as  time  passed,  the  young  man  began  to  feel 
that  courage  which  follows  success  in  effort;  he 
became  a  student  who  was  a  credit  to  the  Uni- 
versity. Even  the  hobgoblin  of  mathematics  he  no 
longer  feared,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  becoming  an 
engineer,  an  engineer  who  would  know  his  business, 
a  man  who  could  wrestle  with  natural  obstacles  and 

\ 

overcome    them    scientifically,    a  maker  of  paths. 
Side  by  side  with  him  struggled  the  buoyant  Lath- 


"LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT    THE    WAY."       105 

rop,  and  when  the  academic  year  had  neared  its 
close,  each  was  prepared  to  face  examination  with  a 
confidence  which  was  justified.  There  was  no 
marauding  expedition  this  time.  One  had  been 
enough  to  last  each  for  a  lifetime. 

Ten  days  before  the  end  of  the  term,  there  came 
to  Sargent  a  letter.  He  had  been  dreaming  of 
another  trip  to  Northern  Michigan,  and  his  pulse 
had  beaten  faster  as  he  thought  of  it.  He  felt 
himself  more  virile  now,  more  qualified  for  the 
breaking  of  a  butterfly,  one  who  might  perhaps 
command  that  which  he  wanted,  but  the  letter 
arbitrarily  changed  his  plans,  and  there  was  no 
recourse. 

Sargent  was  summoned  to  spend  his  vacation  in 
the  great  city  of  the  West,  there,  in  the  office  of  the 
engineering  department  of  a  railroad,  to  acquire  an 
outline  knowledge  of  the  duties  which  would  be  his 
upon  his  graduation;  there  was  no  alternative  in 
the  matter,  he  must  perform  this  work  while  the 
influence  behind  him  and  supporting  him  existed, 
or  sacrifice,  perhaps,  his  prospect  of  entering  active 
life  with  an  advantage.  To  have  refused  would 
have  been  the  sheerest  folly,  even  considering  the 
ultimate  attainment  of  what  he  most  desired.  He 
wrote  a  regretful  letter  to  Barbara,  bewailing  the 
fact  that  he  could  not  visit  the  north  that  summer, 
and  received  one  too  placid  in  return,  though  its 
very  placidity  may  have  done  him  good,  in  that  it 
somewhat  piqued  him.  He  plunged  feverishly  into 
his  work  amid  his  new  surroundings,  and  the  vaca- 
tion seemed  but  a  few  days  to  him.  The  practical 


106  THE    LAUNCHING    OP  A  MAN. 

experience  in  work  was  of  great  value  to  him;  it 
showed  him  wherein  was  his  strength  and  where 
were  his  weaknesses,  and  enabled  him  to  concentrate 
his  efforts  in  the  senior  year  upon  the  attainments 
most  required.  He  graduated  with  honor,  and  with 
half  a  thousand  friends;  then  came  again  an 
imperative  call  to  Chicago  and  the  beginning  of  his 
career.  He  chafed  and  fretted  somewhat,  and  his 
imagination  treated  him  unfairly.  The  northern 
letters,  which  still  came  regularly,  partook,  it  is 
true,  a  little  of  the  coldness  of  the  winds  chilled  in 
their  sweep  over  Lake  Superior,  but  his  heart  was 
warm  and  his  hands  were  outstretched.  The  face 
in  the  woods  had  become  wonderfully  idealized  and 
the  red  hair  had  become  an  aureole.  The  long  days 
of  fall  and  early  winter  passed,  and  with  the  first  of 
January  came  a  six  weeks'  vacation  from  drudgery, 
and  he  fled  toward  the  Saginaw  Valley  as  fast  as 
steam  could  carry  him.  There  were  joyous  and  riot- 
ous times  at  home,  where,  as  the  pride  of  his  sisters, 
much  ado  was  made  over  him,  and  where  he  liked  it 
all,  though  he  was  restless.  At  the  end  of  two 
weeks  he  announced  his  intention  of  visiting  the 
Northern  Peninsula,  and  a  train  which  forced  its 
way  through  snow-drifts  carried  him  toward  the 
Straits.  He  crossed  upon  the  ice  and  found  him- 
self somewhat  perplexed  in  the  little  town,  where 
old  eastern  fur-traders  had  laid  the  foundations  of 
vast  fortunes,  and  where  yet  the  Indian  and  the 
half-breed  were  part  of  the  population,  where 
strange  legends  of  lake  and  forest  were  yet  of  firm 
belief,  where,  upon  the  mainland,  the  wood-roads 


"LOVE    WILL    FIND  OUT    THE    WAY."       107 

were  buried  deeply,  and  where  dog-sleds  or  snow- 
shoes  were  a  necessity  for  him  who  would  go  afield. 
Miles  to  the  north  lay  the  place  he  sought,  lost  for 
the  winter. 

He  talked  with  the  old  trappers,  who  were  drink- 
ing strong  waters  and  telling  hunting  stories  in  the 
shanty-like  boarding  houses,  hibernating  until 
spring  should  come.  He  told  them  where  he 
wanted  to  go  and  they  advised  him  not  to  undertake 
the  trip  unless  it  were  a  matter  of  life  and  death ; 
they  told  him  that  he  would  inevitably  be  lost  if  he 
made  the  attempt,  that  the  forest  roadways  and 
rough  trails  were  invisible  and  could  not  be  followed 
by  one  unfamiliar  with  the  region.  He  could  not 
induce  one  of  them  to  act  as  guide,  for  they,  one 
and  all,  said  that  the  snow  was  not  yet  packed  hard 
enough  for  travel,  that  if  he  went  into  the  woods 
alone  he  would  not  come  out  again  alive,  and  that 
if  he  persisted,  they  would  find  his  body  somewhere 
in  the  wilderness  the  coming  May.  He  but  laughed 
in  their  faces,  and  went  to  a  store  where  equipments 
for  the  lumbermen  were  sold.  He  was  warmly  clad, 
but  he  bought  a  heavy  woolen  suit,  which  he  put  on 
over  the  one  he  already  wore;  he  bought  a  com- 
pass and  a  surveyor's  map  of  the  region  he  was 
about  to  enter,  a  strong  knife,  a  revolver  and  some 
cartridges,  and  a  heavy  blanket.  He  bought  a 
knapsack,  which  he  filled  with  provisions  for  four 
or  five  days.  He  had  been  upon  snow-shoes  before, 
and  he  purchased  a  pair  of  these.  Then,  with  his 
blanket  in  a  roll  above  the  knapsack  at  his  back, 
amid  the  pitying  and  contemptuous  remarks  of  the 


io8  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

trappers,  who  called  him  a  fool,  he  plunged  into  the 
wilderness,  going  as  blithely  as  if  to  the  wedding 
which  he  hoped  might  come. 

It  was  a  cold,  gray  morning  when  Sargent  entered 
the  wood,  following  the  roadway  which  was  clearly 
enough  defined  for  miles.  The  snow,  as  the  trappers 
had  said,  was  soft  and  feathery,  and,  despite  his 
snow-shoes,  he  sank  too  deeply  for  comfort  as  he 
strode  along.  It  was  wearisome  work,  but  he  was 
strong,  and  as  he  walked  he  hummed  to  himself  a 
more  or  less  foolish  song  he  had  often  heard,  the 
burden  of  which  was  to  the  effect  that  "Love  will 
find  out  the  way,"  over  all  obstacles  whatever. 
The  turns  of  the  roadway  were  such  that  all  sight 
of  the  clearings  was  soon  lost,  and  he  was  striding 
along  where  there  was  half  darkness  because  of  the 
dense  overhanging  of  the  forest  growth  on  either 
side.  An  occasional  opening  or  marshy  lowland 
afforded  greater  light  and  cheerfulness,  but  the 
march  was  somber  as  a  whole.  By  noon,  he  was 
ten  miles  from  human  life;  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  he  had  traveled  five  miles  farther 
and  was  very  hungry,  and  beginning  to  be  tired. 
He  brushed  the  deep  snow  from  a  log  by  the 
pathway,  sat  down  upon  it,  and  ate  heartily;  he 
resumed  his  tiring  walk  somewhat  refreshed,  and 
again  humming  cheerily  as  he  walked,  the  refrain 
exploiting  Love's  ability  as  a  pathfinder.  The 
roadway  now  led  downward  into  a  hemlock  swamp 
extending  for  miles  ahead ;  a  swamp  lying  so  low 
that  he  could  look  over  the  tops  of  the  trees  before 
and  beneath  him — a  great  dismal  sea,  which 


"LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT    THE    WAY."       109 

seemed  more  black  than  green.  It  was  easy  going 
down-hill,  and  he  was  soon  where  there  was  almost 
darkness,  though  it  was  only  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  The  trail  was  dim  now,  and  all  caution 
was  required  to  keep  it.  He  was  miles  in  the 
swamp  when  there  was  presented  to  him  a  puzzle. 
He  emerged  into  a  little  open  space  where  the  light 
was  better  and  looked  across  it  to  see  where  the 
roadway  resumed  its  course.  He  saw  four  snow- 
filled  spaces,  once  wood  roads,  no  doubt,  almost 
alike  in  appearance  and  diverging  like  the  spokes  of 
a  wheel. 

Not  all  the  mathematical  knowledge  acquired  in 
the  University,  not  all  the  engineering  ability 
attained,  not  the  assistance  of  the  compass,  could 
give  a  man  one  tota  of  knowledge  as  to  which  of  the 
four  paths  to  take.  Three  of  them  were  roadways 
made  in  summer  by  the  bark-gatherers,  and  must 
end  somewhere  in  the  swamp.  Sargent  knew  the 
general  direction  he  should  take,  but  the  entrances 
were  so  close  together  that  the  compass  could  not 
aid  him ;  the  right  path  might  be  the  one  that  started 
seemingly  in  the  wrong  direction,  for  the  regular 
trail  had  many  turns.  He  could  but  venture. 
Even  love  could  not  certainly  find  a  way.  He  chose 
the  route  which  seemed  to  trend  most  nearly  in  the 
right  direction,  and  entered  it  hopefully.  He  was 
soon  in  the  half  darkness  again,  which  was  now 
being  intensified  by  the  waning  of  the  light  of  day. 
He  was  tired,  too,  for  the  snow-shoes  were 
unaccustomed  things  and  were  bearing  heavily  upon 
his  great  toes.  Snow-shoe  wearers  know  where 


no  THE    LAUNCHING   OF  A  MAN. 

the  strain  comes,  until  one  gets  accustomed  to  the 
lift 

The  pathway  was  relatively  easy  to  follow,  and 
Sargent  struggled  forward,  hoping  to  emerge  from 
the  swamp  upon  the  higher  land  before  night  should 
set  in  completely,  but  there  were  many  windings, 
and,  after  an  hour  or  two  of  fatiguing  work,  he  felt 
that  he  was  still  far  from  the  uplands.  The  gloom 
intensified,  and  he  could  follow  the  roadway  with 
difficulty.  It  was  just  as  night  fairly  settled  down 
upon  the  forest  that  he  stumbled  forward  into  a 
small  clearing,  with  felled  trees  lying  upon  all 
sides,  and  great  stacks  of  hemlock  bark  piled  here 
and  there.  He  crossed  the  little  opening  and 
found  no  exit  into  the  forest  beyond ;  it  was  the  end 
of  the  roadway.  He  had  walked  miles  out  of  his 
course,  only  to  find  himself  in  an  abandoned  camp- 
ing place  of  the  bark-gatherers ! 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  situation,  and  Sargent 
realized  it;  here  he  was,  alone,  in  mid-winter, 
practically  lost  in  a  forest  of  Northern  Michigan;  he 
was  miles  from  any  human  habitation  or  any 
human  aid.  For  a  moment  he  was  somewhat  dazed, 
but  it  was  not  in  him  to  make  much  of  a  situation  of 
the  sort.  He  pulled  a  broad  strip  of  the  hemlock 
bark  from  one  of  the  heaps,  laid  it  on  the  snow, 
crowning  a  hemlock  log,  and  sat  down  upon  it  to 
think  a  little  and  pull  himself  together.  That  was 
not  a  difficult  task ;  he  had  spent  midwinter  nights 
in  the  woods  before,  and  after  a  few  minutes  of 
rest  he  aroused  himself  and  began  the  work  before 
him. 


"LOVE  WILL  FIND  OUT  THE  WAY."   in 

Two  great  logs  lay  side  by  side,  four  or  five  feet 
apart.  Using  a  piece  of  the  stiff  rectangular  bark  as 
a  shovel,  he  cleared  away  the  snow  between  them, 
for  a  distance  of  ten  or  twelve  feet.  One  end  of  the 
bottom  of  the  excavation  he  covered  with  bark  from 
the  heaps  for  two-thirds  of  its  length,  leaving  an 
open  space  of  some  three  feet.  Here  he  made 
another  little  flooring  of  bark,  and  upon  this  pro- 
ceeded to  build  a  fire.  There  were  bark  and  dry 
limbs  in  abundance,  and  to  build  a  fire  was  no  feat 
at  all ;  a  merry  blaze  was  soon  leaping  upward  into 
the  night,  and  enough  dead  wood  was  piled  at  hand 
for  the  fire's  replenishment  as  need  might  come. 
Across  the  logs  over  the  floored  space  more  bark 
was  laid,  until  it  was  fairly  roofed,  and  more  bark 
still  was  piled  leaning  against  the  end  farthest  from 
the  fire.  Here  was  now  a  little  cabin,  dry,  open  at 
one  end,  and  with  a  blazing  fire  in  front.  Next, 
with  the  heavy  knife  he  carried,  Sargent  cut  a  great 
armful  of  small  hemlock  branches,  and  with  them 
made  a  soft  and  fragrant  bed  upon  the  hut's  even 
floor.  He  was  delighted  with  and  interested  in  his 
work.  All  perplexity  had  gone. 

Seated  in  the  door  of  his  cabin  the  man  ate 
heartily,  smoked  his  briar-wood  pipe,  and  from 
placidity  grew  buoyant  of  mood  again.  He  even 
sang  his  foolish  song  aloud,  and,  unaffected  by 
"Love's"  failure  of  the  late  afternoon,  announced 
buoyantly  to  the  forest  that  Love  would  find  a 
way.  Toward  night  it  had  become  warmer  and  a 
soft  snow  was  falling.  At  last  a  drowsiness  came 
upon  the  singer;  he  heaped  more  wood  upon  the 


112  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A   MAN. 

fire,  wrapped  his  blanket  about  him,  and  lay  back 
among  the  soft  hemlock  boughs,  with  his  feet  toward 
the  warming  flames. 

He  slept  dreamlessly  for  an  hour  or  two,  then 
awoke  with  a  start,  aroused  by  some  sound  from  the 
forest.  The  fire  had  waned,  but  the  blaze  still 
uplifting  made  queer  dancing  shadows  among  the 
hemlocks,  as  if  the  black  wood  spirits  were  holding 
a  carnival  about  him.  He  could  hear  the  patter  of 
soft  feet,  as  the  great  white  rabbits  frolicked  about 
among  the  bark  heaps.  Then  from  the  wood  came 
a  sudden  hoarse-prolonged  shriek,  so  strident  and 
threatening  that  Sargent  started  to  a  sitting 
posture,  but  settled  back  upon  his  couch  again,  for 
he  recognized  the  sound.  He  had  a  neighbor  in 
the  great  snowy  owl  of  the  north,  that  terror  of  all 
small  four-footed  things.  Then  something  waver- 
ingly  big  and  white  swept  silently  and  swiftly  by, 
there  was  a  struggle  in  the  snow,  the  agonized 
squeaking  of  a  hare,  and  silence  again.  The  great 
owl  had  found  its  prey.  A  little  later,  from  a 
distance,  came  the  long  moaning  howl  of  a  wolf, 
but  that  mattered  little  to  Sargent,  for  the  big  gray 
wolf  of  the  Peninsula  has  long  since  learned  to  fear 
man  above  all  living  things,  while  fire  is  to  him  a 
terror.  There  came  the  snort  of  a  startled  deer,  but 
Sargent  was  becoming  oblivious  to  what  was  about 
him.  His  eyes  were  heavy  and  he  slept  again. 

There  came  dreams,  wonderful  dreams,  there  were 
a  thousand  fair  happenings,  and  the  red-crowned 
girl  flitted  through  a  world  strange  and  beautiful 
with  him.  He  reveled  in  a  land  of  summer; 


'LOVE    WILL   FIND    OUT    THE  WAY."        113 

% 

flowers  blossomed  about  him,  and  birds  were  filling 
the  air  with  their  untaught  music. 

It  was  all  queer,  but  everything  seems  natural  in 
a  dream.  He  wanted  to  find  Barbara,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  Barbara  was  anxious  to  be  with  him, 
but  there  were  difficulties  in  the  way.  There  were 
high  walls  and  there  was  something  about  a  sheriff 
and  a  bear.  He  couldn't  understand  very  much 
about  the  sheriff  and  the  bear  and  didn't  care  much 
about  them,  but  the  high  walls  were  real  and  there 
was  nothing  to  clamber  up  by,  and  so  he  couldn't  get 
to  Barbara,  who  was  somewhere  on  the  other  side. 
Then  suddenly  he  was  happily  surprised  to  hear 
her  call  to  him  that  she  was  coming  over  herself, 
and  that  he  needn't  bother  about  the  climbing. 
She  came  over  at  once  in  the  form  of  a  beautiful 
brown  quail,  but  instead  of  alighting  beside  him  she 
sailed  down  in  the  sunlight  across  a  meadow,  then 
settled  beside  two  maple  trees  where  the  clover  was 
thick  and  heavy.  It  seemed  all  right  that  Barbara 
should  come  in  such  form,  but  it  seemed  a  little 
unfair  that  he  should  have  to  walk  so  far  to  get  to 
her  and  he  said  to  himself,  quite  naturally:  "The 
girl  hasn't  learned  how  to  fly  well  yet."  Then  he 
stalked  across  the  meadow  to  where  he  had  seen 
her  alight  beyond  the  maple  trees,  just  where  the 
ground  dipped  up  into  a  little  hill,  and  began  parting 
carefully  the  tops  of  the  red  blossoms  that  he  might 
find  her.  It  was  quite  a  search,  but  he  succeeded  at 
last  and  found  her  crouching  cozily  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  bloom  and  fragrance.  He  asked  her  why  she 
had  flown  so  far.  She  said  she  didn't  know,  that 


114  THE    LAUNCHING  OF   A  MAN. 

the  air  had  carried  her,  and  that  she  couldn't  help 
floating  down  upon  it.  She  had  dropped  into  the 
clover  as  soon  as  she  could.  He  said  that  was  all 
right,  and  then  they  walked  away  together,  for 
somehow  Barbara  seemed  a  young  woman  again, 
and  there  was  nothing  out  of  the  way  about  the 
transformation.  He  began  to  tell  her  of  the  hawks 
that  were  once  accustomed  to  alight  upon  certain 
dead  limbs  of  the  two  maple  trees,  for  it  seemed  to 
him,  now,  that  this  was  one  of  the  meadows  of  his 
childhood.  Then  both  of  them  became  so  interested 
in  the  singing  of  the  birds  about  them  that  they 
forgot  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  and  could 
talk  only  of  the  singing.  Sargent  awoke. 

Morning  had  come.  The  man  lay  quiet  in  his 
blanket,  and  as  he  began  to  realize  where  he  was, 
he  thought  he  must  yet  be  half  asleep  and  dream- 
ing, for  the  song  of  birds  was  still  ringing  in  his 
ears.  They  were  calling  to  each  other  all  around, 
and  there  was  music  everywhere.  He  could  hear 
distinctly  among  them  all  what  seemed  the  notes  of 
the  phoebe-bird,  the  bird  of  the  summer,  which 
builds  its  nest  in  the  bridges  over  creeks,  or  in 
pleasant  places  about  the  barns  and  meadow  sides. 
Through  the  open  doorway  came  to  the  man's  eyes 
the  flash  of  a  million  crystals,  as  the  bright  sun 
smote  the  frosted  hemlocks ;  it  was  all  wonderful,  and 
Sargent  leaped  to  his  feet  to  look  upon  the  morning 
scenes. 

It  was  all  real  enough,  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  and  the  birds  were  singing,  but  it  was  not 
the  phoebe-bird  which  had  so  puzzled  Sargent;  it 


"LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT    THE    WAY."       115 

was  the  wood  pee-wee  of  the  far  North,  the  note  of 
which  is  so  similar  to  that  of  the  phoebe;  and  it 
was  accompanied  by  a  host  of  its  northern  friends. 
This  was  their  summer  time  and  they  were  in  a 
joyous  mood.  The  crisp  air  and  the  glorious  scene 
were  enough  to  inspirit  any  man  with  health  and 
courage  in  him.  Sargent  laughed  aloud.  He  ate 
heartily  and  then  sat  down  to  ponder. 

Should  he  retrace  his  steps  and  seek  another  trail 
in  the  swamp  at  the  point  where  the  ways  had 
diverged?  He  would  not  waste  the  time.  Could 
not  he,  a  born  woodsman,  find  a  way  of  his  own? 
What  to  him  were  trails?  He  took  out  his 
surveyor's  map  of  the  region  and  studied  it  care- 
fully. With  his  compass  he  laid  a  course  for  where 
lay  the  Sloan  homestead  and  coming  happiness; 
then  he  girded  himself  and  strode  into  the  forest 
depths  full  of  strength  and  hope.  Within  an  hour 
he  had  emerged  from  the  swamp  and  was  among  the 
birch  and  oak  and  maple,  holding  his  course 
steadfastly,  and  his  progress  was  fairly  satisfactory, 
though  the  snow  was  softer  still  because  of  the 
slight  fall  the  night  before,  and  the  walking  required 
much  strength  of  leg  and  depth  of  lung. 

In  his  present  mood,  Sargent  could  rejoice  in  all 
he  saw,  and  he  saw  much.  Not  a  journal  in  all  the 
country  gave  more  news  that  morning  than  did  the 
sheet  of  fresh  new-fallen  snow.  The  squirrels  had 
left  bulletins  everywhere  upon  the  snow-clad  tree 
trunks,  and  upon  the  ground  were  page  after  page 
of  added  information.  In  some  bank  a  crumbling 
breakage  in  the  snow  showed  where  the  ruffed 


Ii6  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A   MAN.       . 

grouse  had  buried  itself  for  protection  against  the 
cold,  and  beneath  the  birches  the  brown  fleckings 
gave  proof  that  the  same  bird  had  taken  its  bud- 
breakfast  in  the  tree-tops.  There  were  the  tracks  of 
the  fox,  but,  somehow,  he  had  missed  the  grouse  in 
its  bedroom.  Along  beside  the  logs,  the  queer 
twin  pads  of  the  weasel  or  the  mink  showed  what 
hunting  had  been  done,  and  beside  the  creeks, 
where  the  air-holes  in  the  ice  were,  the  otter  had 
left  his  mark.  Here  and  there  seemingly  a  great 
dog  had  passed  in  the  night,  but  this  was  the  trail 
of  the  old  gray  wolf ;  and  here  and  there  were  the 
bunched  hoof  marks  of  the  running  deer.  Snow 
buntings  had  scattered  seeds  from  the  reed  clumps, 
and  wood  mice,  their  light  bodies  barely  sinking  in 
the  snow,  had  made  lace  work  all  about.  It  was  a 
great  morning  for  a  tramp,  even  though  one  were 
alone  with  no  companionship  save  that  of  the  wild 
creatures. 

Noon  came,  and  with  it  hunger,  which  was 
appeased  again  .from  the  knapsack.  Valleys  were 
descended,  and  hills  climbed,  and  dense  woods  and 
thickets  threaded,  with  slight  turning  aside,  for 
the  course  must  be  held  firmly,  or  there  might 
come  disaster.  At  last,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, a  hill  was  climbed,  a  slope  partly  descended, 
the  wood  came  to  an  end,  and  there,  fair  and  white 
before  him,  Sargent  saw  lying  the  Sloan  farm. 
From  the  house  the  smoke  curled  high  and  white,  and 
there  came  to  the  mind  of  the  grateful  and  happy 
youth  a  thought  of  the  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  which 
led  the  Children  from  the  Wilderness  into  Canaan. 


"LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT    THE    WAY."       117 

He  walked  on  again,  until  he  reached  the  clear- 
ing's edge,  then  climbed  the  fence  and  sat  there 
resting.  There  was  his  heart's  desire,  but  a  sudden 
timidity  came  upon  him;  he  overcame  it  at  last, 
though,  plunged  through  the  snow  across  the  fields 
and  creek,  and  up  the  slope  and  the  well- 
remembered  pathway,  and  knocked  upon  the  door. 
It  was  opened  by  a  fair  girl,  who  started  as  she 
saw  him.  She  looked  upon  him  silently,  and  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  face,  until  the  tint  of  her  cheeks 
was  deeper  than  that  of  the  Michigan  roses  she  had 
tended  in  midsummer.  She  opened  her  lips,  but, 
for  a  moment,  did  not  speak. 


n8  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"THE  WOOIN'  O'T." 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  girl  stood  silent,  still. 
Then  the  blood  in  her  fair  cheeks  sank  back  to  its 
sources,  and  she  was,  in  a  degree,  herself  again : 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Sargent!" 

The  fear  had  gone  from  him,  and  he  had  become 
a  man  again  as  his  eyes  fed  upon  her.  A  little 
more  grave  of  face,  a  little  more  stately  of  bearing, 
a  little  more  beautiful  in  all  ways  was  the  woman 
before  him,  and  he  wanted  her  more  and  more. 
His  eyes  told  his  story  demandingly,  and  she 
understood  it  What  civilized  woman  ever  lived, 
even  the  dullest  scrub-woman  of  the  floors  of  a 
public  building,  who  could  not  understand  such 
language  from  the  eyes  of  a  man? 

She,  the  woodland  girl,  knew  well  what  the  man 
had  done.  None  better  than  she  knew  the  life- 
risking  danger  of  the  solitary  trip  in  mid-winter 
across  the  unpeopled  waste  between  the  settled 
region  and  the  Straits.  He,  this  magnificent  animal 
before  her,  had  ploughed  his  way  through  deep 
snows,  had  slept  in  the  forest  when  a  sudden 
blizzard  might  have  cost  his  life,  had  taken  all 
chances  just  to  look  again  upon  her,  to  be  with  her! 
She  understood  it  very  well.  She  understood  it  so 
well  that,  saying  all  graceful  things  after  she  had 


"THE    WOOIN1    O'T."  119 

recovered  herself,  and  bringing  him  in  to  her  father 
beside  the  great  open  fireplace,  she  fled  to  her  own 
room,  threw  herself  down  upon  the  bed  there,  and 
pressed  her  face  hard  upon  the  pillow,  and 
wondered  what  she  should  do?  She  could  not  tell. 
But  what  a  great,  resolute,  daring  boy-man  it  was ! 
What  a  struggle  was  before  her!  She  knew  that 
the  youth  who  had  come  across  all  those  buried 
miles  had  not  come  for  nothing.  Considering  the 
case  of  this  young  woman  objectively,  it  is  but  fair 
to  extend  to  her  a  degree  of  sympathy.  Her 
problem  was  certainly  a  serious  one. 

What  were  the  thoughts  of  Barbara?  Who  shall 
analyze  and  make  plain  in  fair  print  the  mind  and 
emotions  of  a  young  woman  dealing  with  the  love 
problem?  Save  in  exceptional  cases,  before  the  age 
of  twenty-five,  the  woman  is  far  in  advance  of  the 
man  in  keen  perceptiveness,  and  understanding  of 
the  relations  between  them.  Yet  the  man,  more 
bungling,  has  a  certain  advantage  in  that  he  knows 
just  what  he  wants,  while  the  girl  does  not.  The 
girl  has  dreams,  the  man  has  purposes.  Her 
reasoning  is  all  of  the  abstract,  his  of  the  concrete. 
He  is  in  love  with  a  particular  woman,  and  is 
resolved  to  have  her  and  no  other  woman.  She  has 
a  sort  of  vague  ideal,  she  is  in  love  with  love,  so  to 
speak,  and  not  so  much  with  the  one  particular 
biped.  He  is  certain  and  she  is  uncertain.  The 
more  definite  goal  in  love  comes  to  her  later.  Her 
course  is  most  doubtful.  The  old  Biblical  gentleman 
who  described  as  one  of  the  things  which  could  not 
be  foretold,  "the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid,"  one 


120  THE   LAUNCHING   OF    A   MAN. 

would  think  might  have  improved  upon  it.  Why 
didn't  he  say  "The  way  of  a  maid  with  a  man"? 

Thoroughly  delighted  was  Judge  Sloan  over  the 
unexpected  advent  of  the  young  man  whom  he  had 
learned  to  regard  so  highly.  He  asked  no  questions 
about  the  perilous  trip,  for  his  thoughts  now  ran  in 
somewhat  narrow  channels,  and  it  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  there  was  anything  extraordinary  about 
this  sudden  appearance  of  a  visitor  from  the  outer 
world.  He  settled  back  in  his  easy  chair  and  lit  his 
pipe  and  began  talking  with  the  young  fellow  who 
could  understand  him  so  well.  Sargent  was  at 
home  in  a  moment. 

Michael,  who  was  lounging  by  the  fire,  fingering 
the  strings  of  his  fiddle,  thrumming  out  half- 
smothered  music  like  that  of  a  guitar,  cast  a  swift, 
piercing  sidelong  look  at  Sargent,  his  small  black 
eyes  betraying  a  world  of  meaning  in  the  fleeting 
glance.  As  the  talk  began  and  went  on  briskly 
between  Judge  Sloan  and  Sargent,  the  lad  played 
softly  yet  briskly  and  with  unerring  snap  and 
emphasis — still  with  his  fingers  alone  on  the  strings, 
the  bow  lying  idle  on  the  floor  by  his  side — an  ancient 
Norwegian  wedding  march.  The  blood  mounted  to 
Sargent's  cheek  as  he  heard  the  smothered  laugh  of 
the  strings;  he  looked  sternly  at  Michael,  but  the 
dwarfish  youth  seemed  totally  unconscious  of  all 
around  him,  except  perhaps  of  the  hound  which  lay 
at  his  feet,  for  he  caressed  its  head  with  his 
moccasined  foot  occasionally. 

The  bustling  Tilda  came  in  now,  and  began 
preparations  for  a  mighty  refection  for  the  traveler; 


"THE    WOOIN1    O'T."  121 

and  she  roused  Michael  from  his  dream  of  laziness 
and  sent  him  flying  to  the  spring  for  water,  and  to 
the  great  pile  of  wood  for  fuel,  and  to  the  cellar 
for  vegetables,  and  to  the  loft  for  frozen  spareribs 
and  dried  venison,  and  so  kept  the  Troll,  as  Sargent 
inwardly  called  him,  chasing  about  and  leaving 
doors  open,  and  being  called  back  to  shut  them, 
until,  in  self-protection,  the  lad  fled  away  to  the 
barn,  where  he  had  a  warm  nest  in  the  hay,  in  which 
he  spent  a  good  share  of  his  time,  remote  from  the 
sharp  commands  of  his  mother,  and  from  all  other 
calls  of  duty. 

And  now  began  a  series  of  bewildering  days  for 
Sargent.  There  was  a  trial  of  skill  at  love's  fencing 
between  the  two  young  people  from  the  first.  The 
one  purpose  of  Sargent's  life  was  to  declare  his  love 
to  the  girl  who,  from  the  time  when  he  first  saw  her, 
had  held  his  heart  as  in  a  clasp  which  could  never 
be  loosened.  The  one  purpose  of  Barbara  seemed 
to  be  to  keep  back  from  the  lover's  lips  the  story 
he  was  struggling  to  tell. 

As  for  Barbara,  she  felt  the  currents  of  her  being 
setting  toward  the  young  adventurer  of  the  snow- 
shoes,  and  she  made  a  brave  struggle  not  to  let  the 
current  get  too  strong.  Barbara  Sloan  was  a  girl  of 
great  purpose  and  ambition,  loving  and  unselfish, 
and  she  had  not  planned,  as  yet,  to  fall  in  love  at  all. 
In  her  dreams,  she  had  thought  of  a  lover,  of  course, 
and  although  such  dreams  were  unacknowledged, 
the  real  trouble  was  that  Sargent  did  not  look  like 
the  somewhat  stiff  and  august  creature  of  the 
young  girl's  fancies.  And  then,  Barbara,  when  she 


122  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

had  returned  to  stay  with  her  father,  after  her  latest 
absence  from  her  home,  where  she  had  lived 
among  men  and  women  of  more  than  ordinary 
ideas  and  ideals,  had  found  her  father  much  broken 
in  spirit  and  strength,  and,  saddest  discovery  of  all, 
she  was  forced  at  last  to  see  that  his  mind  had 
lost,  in  some  degree,  its  practical  tone,  and  his  will 
its  strength  of  direction,  so  that  he  was  floating 
passively,  and  somewhat  aimlessly,  along  on  the 
stream  of  life.  Barbara  passionately  denied  this 
discovery,  even  after  it  had  become  a  conviction, 
insisting  to  herself  that  it  could  not  be  true,  but 
unconsciously  she  was  already  shaping  her  whole 
existence  in  such  a  manner  as  to  hide  the  lapse  from 
active,  virile  life  which  had  come  upon  her  father. 

The  girl's  anxiety  and  apprehension  extended  to 
financial  matters.  She  saw  complications  in  the 
near  future  brought  about  by  certain  ventures  of 
Judge  Sloan's  in  buying  timber  and  mining  lands. 
She  clung  ever  more  and  more  fondly  to  the  gentle, 
learned,  kindly  old  scholar  as  she  saw  his  fortunes 
failing,  and  recognized  the  unfitness  of  his  nature 
and  training  for  the  rough  struggle  for  wealth  which 
consumes  the  energies  of  strong  men  without  due 
reward,  and  in  which  men  of  gentle  blood,  high 
ideals  and  scholarly  attainments  almost  invariably 
fail. 

And  so,  in  the  girl's  ardent  soul,  had  been  formed 
a  scheme  of  life  for  and  with  her  father.  The 
dream  of  a  lover  did  not  disturb  this  plan  at  all,  but 
the  real  lover  did;  the  real  lover,  so  young,  so 
new  to  the  world  and  all  experience,  fresh  from 


"THE    WOOIN'    O'T."  123 

college  and  all  the  jejune  life  of  college,  so  master- 
ful, too,  and  sure  of  himself,  and  even  of  her! 

And  so  the  lover  and  the  lass  wavered  along,  one 
advancing  with  a  heart  on  fire,  the  other  retreating, 
but  looking  back.  It  was  like  a  Spanish  dance, 
thought  old  Tilda,  as  she  looked  on  silently,  taking 
note  without  appearing  to  do  so,  and  soundly  boxing 
Michael's  ears  whenever  he  became  too  much 
interested  in  the  young  folk. 

One  morning  the  two  went  out  for  a  walk  over 
the  hard  crust  of  the  frozen  snow.  It  makes  ideal 
walking,  the  snowcrust;  only,  as  Barbara  said,  "You 
want  to  run  all  the  time. ' ' 

They  ran  a  race  along  a  chain  of  play  mountains 
formed  by  drifts  over  the  three-cornered  fences.  It 
was  a  mile  to  the  pine  woods,  in  whose  shadow  the 
snow  lay  perfectly  level,  and  they  ran  across  the 
hard  surface,  with  just  a  little  dust  of  new-fallen 
snow  upon  it,  with  such  ease  that  it  seemed  like 
flying.  Barbara  was  a  fleet  runner,  but  of  course  she 
was  no  match  for  Sargent,  and,  as  he  heard  her 
skirts  rustling  along  behind  him,  and  the  "pat-pat" 
of  her  little  feet,  he  turned  suddenly  and  caught 
her  hand. 

"Oh,  let's  not  race, "  he  said,  running  along  by  her 
side,  "let's  run  together." 

And  so  they  ran,  hand  in  hand,  until  just  as  they 
were  leaving  the  mimic  mountain  chain  Sargent 
broke  through  the  snow  crust  and,  with  a  flounder 
or  two,  sank  waist  deep. 

Barbara  saved  herself  by  darting  with  lightning 
quickness  from  Sargent's  side,  and  then  she  stood 


124  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

afar  off.  and  laughed  at  him.  When  she  saw  him 
emerging  from  the  drift  covered  with  snow,  she 
started  running  again,  and  reached  the  woods  before 
him.  Then  they  had  a  game  of  hide  and  seek, 
dodging  about  among  the  trees,  until  at  last  Sargent 
caught  the  laughing  girl  again  by  the  hand — well 
gloved,  you  may  be  sure,  and  not  in  kid  either — and 
they  walked  among  the  sighing  lanes  of  green  trees 
with  the  frozen  waters  of  Honey  Creek  for  a  path- 
way. 

"You  make  me  follow  you,  Pied  Piperess  that  you 
are,"  said  Sargent,  "and  now  that  I  have  caught 
you  I  am  going  to  quarrel  with  you." 

"Oh,  is  that  what  you  came  up  from  below  for,  in 
the  depth  of  winter?  Why,  we  could  quarrel  very 
well  in  writing." 

' '  But  that  is  one  of  the  things  I  want  to  find  fault 
with  you  about.  Your  letters  are  unsatisfactory, — 
not  like  yourself. ' ' 

"You  are  talking  in  a  double-edged  style,  trying 
to  cut  and  salve  the  wound  with  one  sweep,  Mr. 
Sargent.  Pray,  to  what  do  you  object  in  my 
epistolary  style?" 

"It  is  lifeless  and  cold,"  began  the  poor  fool  of  a 
boy,  but  she  interrupted  him — 

"It  is  cold  up  here,  you  can  see  and  feel  for  your- 
self— and  then  I  don't  see  why  you  complain — you 
are  unjust.  Didn't  I  thank  you  with  enough 
warmth  for  the  books  you  sent  me  Christmas?" 

"Why  talk  of  trifles?"  this  indignantly.  "Well, 
no,  I  don't  care,  your  letter  was  cold,  perfunctory, 
ending  with  that  simpering  'Again  thanking  you, ' 


"THE    WOOIN'    O'T."  125 

and  so  on — Why  will  people  write  that?  They  never 
say  it;  fancy  a  man  or  woman  saying  'Again  thank- 
ing you' ;  the  straight-out  ending  of  a  child's  letter 
is  better,  'As  I  can  think  of  nothing  more  to  say,  I 
will  close. '  ' ' 

"Aren't  you  making  a  lot  of  fuss  over  a  little 
thing?"  asked  Miss  Barbara  Sloan,  tying  the  blue 
ribbons  of  her  fur  hood  anew  under  her  chin  with  a 
certain  far-away  dignity  in  the  simple  action. 

"Of  course  I  am — and  I  didn't  mean  that  at  all — I 
mean  the  tone  of  your  letters.  It  is  frosty,  and 
gives  me  a  heart  shiver  every  time  I  hear  from  you. 
And  I  wait  for  your  letters  so!" 

"Too  bad,"  said  Barbara,  gravely.  "It  would  be 
better  not  to  write  at  all. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  don't  say  that — and  don't  look  so,  so 
school-teacherish ! ' ' 

The  girl  immediately  assumed  the  look  and  air  of 
a  child  of  nine  years  old — how  she  did  it,  who  can 
tell? — but  her  eyes  looked  out  childishly,  she  swung 
one  well  booted  foot  back  and  forth,  as  she  stood 
before  Sargent,  and  with  her  hands  crossed  before 
her,  sung  in  a  sweet  childish  voice : 

'How  I  love  my  teacher, 

How  I  love  my  ma, 

How  I  love  my  preacher, 

How  I  love  my  pa!" 

And  then,  why  then,  Sargent  came  nearer  kissing 
Miss  Barbara  Sloan  than  he  had  ever  before.  She 
had  a  narrow  escape  that  time,  but  by  great  self- 
possession  she  did  escape. 


xa6  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A  MAN. 

"Come  now,"  said  Barbara,  as  they  turned  and 
walked  sedately  homeward,  along  the  creek,  "let's 
turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  talk  sense." 

"Then  you  begin,"  said  Sargent.  "You  have 
taken  my  senses  from  me,  but  while  you're  starting 
the  ball  rolling,  I  will  be  turning  over  the  leaf  and 
collecting  myself  together. ' ' 

"Tell  me  your  plans, "  began  Barbara,  "and  don't 
bring  me  into  them,  either,"  she  warned,  for  she 
saw  a  dangerous  flash  in  his  eyes. 

And  then  Sargent  told  about  his  hopes  and 
schemes,  how  he  was  to  finish  his  preparations  in 
Chicago  for  his  work  in  helping  to  lay  out  the  route 
for  a  great  railway  across  the  continent,  from  the 
Missouri  to  the  Pacific,  and  how,  before  the  snow 
should  come  again,  he  expected  to  be  in  the  heart  of 
the  Arizona  desert  or  in  the  Mexican  district  at  his 
work. 

Barbara  entered  into  the  new  world  thus  brought 
before  her  with  great  interest,  and,  with  exquisite 
tact,  she  drew  out  the  young  engineer's  story  of  his 
profession  until  they  reached  home,  where  the 
Judge  was  eagerly  awaiting  them,  book  in  hand,  and 
finger  between  the  leaves,  to  show  Sargent  some- 
thing he  had  found,  in  which  the  two  men  had  a 
common  interest. 

And  Barbara,  in  the  silence  and  trim  order  of  her 
own  little  room,  as  she  looked  out  vaguely  at  the 
white  world,  through  her  small-paned  window,  said 
to  herself  softly:  "I  must  take  care!  Icouldlovz 
him!" 

Very  strong  in  the  make-up  of  Sargent  was   the 


"THE    WOOIN'    OT."  127 

instinct  that  the  physical  Nature  we  know  could 
speak  to  what  we  call  Human  Nature.  Happy  those 
who  have  this  thought  and  instinct,  for  they  are 
right!  Though  the  wild  things  may  not  always 
speak  in  their  behalf  with  promptness  for  an 
emergency,  they  will  speak  at  last,  to  all  save  the 
dull-minded. 

So  Sargent,  hoping,  grasping,  took  Barbara  out 
with  him  again  along  the  creek,  the  waters  of  which 
ran,  swift  and  black,  beneath  the  pure  ice,  cleaned 
here  and  there  by  the  broom  of  the  winds. 

The  creeks  which  run  north  and  south  from  the 
divide  in  northern  Michigan,  are  often  spring-fed 
for  miles  from  their  beginning.  And  so  the  ice 
above  the  water  is  relatively  thin  in  places,  espe- 
cially where  the  streams  linger  and  spread  into  ponds, 
deep  and  broad,  and  here  the  ice  is  almost  absolutely 
clear.  It  was  out  upon  one  of  those  ponds,  close  to 
its  steep  side,  where  the  scrub  oaks  overhung,  that 
Sargent  took  Barbara  one  day.  He  had  with  him 
two  huge  horse  blankets,  and  an  axe,  and  broom. 
He  swept  away  the  feathery  snow  which  lay  upon 
the  ice  and  exposed  an  area  which  looked  almost 
black  by  contrast.  With  the  axe  he  cut  a  hole 
through  the  ice  perhaps  a  foot  across,  and  cleared 
away  all  chippings,  so  that  the  hole  opened  into  the 
water  fair  and  clean.  Then  he  spread  one  of  the 
blankets  upon  the  cleared  surface,  close  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  hole,  and  made  Barbara  kneel  with  him, 
looking  down  through  into  the  waters.  Over  both  of 
them  he  threw  the  other  blanket,  so  that  they  were 
protected  from  the  cold  and  wind,  in  a  sort  of  little 


iz8  THE    LAUNCHING  OP  A  MAN. 

tent.  It  was  very  good  to  be  thus  close  to  Barbara 
in  that  little  tent. 

At  first,  there  seemed  to  be  what  was  almost 
darkness  in  the  tent,  but,  as  they  looked  downward 
into  the  water,  there  came  to  the  woman  a  revela- 
tion. There  was  light  below,  and  there  was  sud- 
denly revealed  to  her,  what  she  had  never 
imagined  even,  the  real  life  of  the  water-world,  the 
under-world.  There  she  could  see  plainly  all  that 
was  going  on  among  the  people  of  the  depths.  She 
could  see  the  pebbly  bottom,  with  the  funny  criss- 
cross streaks  made  by  the  little  creatures  of  the  sand 
and  slime.  She  saw  huge  pickerel  drift  lazily  across, 
each  barely  steadying  himself  by  slow  fin-strokes, 
or  the  black  bass  passing,  all  alert.  What,  beyond 
all,  most  attracted  her,  though,  were  the  shifting 
groups  of  speckled  trout,  brilliantly  marked,  and 
graceful  of  outline,  and  intent  on  seeking  something, 
none  knew  what.  There  were  other  things,  a  score 
of  other  things,  to  interest  her,  but  the  shining, 
glittering  trout  attracted  her  above  all  else.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  scurrying  together,  a  moment  of 
wavering,  and  then  a  group  darted  away,  far  from 
her  field  of  vision.  Immediately  across  that  same 
field  of  vision  swept  something  dark  and  graceful 
and  dreadful.  It  was  an  otter  pursuing  the  trout.  So 
swift  and  fierce  was  its  lightning  dash  that  it 
seemed  almost  flattened  out  in  its  pursuit,  and, 
following  closely,  came  another  shadow,  almost  the 
same,  as  graceful  and  as  swift;  it  was  the  otter's 
mate. 

There  were  other  things,    a    host    of    them,  to 


"THE    WOOIN'    O'T."  129 

interest,  but  this  fierce  chase  of  the  graceful  otter 
after  the  trout  seemed  most  to  attract  the  astonished 
Barbara.  Then  Sargent  told  her  of  the  qualities  of 
this  most  gifted  and  graceful  of  all  the  water 
creatures,  of  their  made  slides,  where  they  played 
together  as  children  do  on  the  hill  slopes  in  winter, 
of  their  lovingness  toward  each  other,  and  of  the 
caressings  of  male  and  mate  when  they  lounged 
together  in  summer  upon  some  rock  rising  just 
above  the  water.  And  he  tried  to  tell  her  how, 
even  among  the  wild  things,  with  greater  intelli- 
gence came  the  greater  affection.  Of  how  love  in 
reality  rules  all  life,  and  of  a  verity,  "makes  the 
world  go  round;"  but  Barbara  appeared  to  com- 
prehend and  give  heed  to  only  the  natural  history 
features  of  what  he  said.  His  talk  about  love  in  the 
depths  of  the  waters  and  of  the  forest  she  called 
fantastic,  and  steered  the  talk  into  channels  much 
more  commonplace. 

It  seemed  to  Sargent  as  if  all  nature  were  mating 
easily,  that  everywhere  the  right  female  came  to  the 
right  male  upon  call.  Only  Barbara  would  not 
come  to  him. 


130  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  WINTER  FESTIVAL. 

"We  are  going  to  be  very  gay,"  announced 
Barbara,  jauntily,  as  she  poured  the  breakfast  coffee 
one  cold,  glittering  morning.  "I  have  accepted  an 
invitation  on  behalf  of  father  and  me  and  our 
distinguished  guest  from  'below.'  " 

' '  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  anywhere  with  Judge  Sloan 
and  his  daughter,"  said  Sargent,  "but  it's  uncanny 
somehow — this  constant  reference  to  the  depths 
from  which  I  come. ' ' 

"Up  here,  Mr.  Sargent,"  Judge  Sloan  interposed, 
with  the  entirely  unnecessary  information,  "Up 
here,  every  stranger  is  enevitably  located  as  from 
'below' — meaning  south  from  upper  Michigan. " 

"Nothing  could  come  from  above,"  said  Barbara, 
"nothing  save  the  north  wind,  for  there  is  only 
Lake  Superior." 

"As  you  very  justly  remark,"  the  Judge  spoke 
with  his  usual  slow  dignity,  using  one  of  the  forms 
of  words  which  had  become  habitual  to  him — and 
somehow  they  were  interjected  into  ordinary  con- 
versation with  ludicrous  effect — "it  is  embarrassing 
to  be  continually  spoken  of  as  from  'below,'  but  I 
assure  you  no  offense  is  intended." 

"Or  taken,"  heartily  assented  Sargent,  "but  about 
that  gayety,  Miss  Sloan?  The  idea  of  going  any- 


A   WINTER    FESTIVAL.  131 

where  with  the  thermometer  from  ten  to  twenty-five 
below  zero  appeals  to  me  with  force.  Will  you  tell 
me  what  is  in  store  for  us?" 

"We  are  going  to  an  entertainment  in  the 
Fletcher  District,"  answered  Barbara.  "This  even- 
ing at  early  candle  light,  the  Fletcher  mansion,  the 
first  house  built  in  all  this  region,  will  be  opened  to 
entertain  the  neighborhood.  All  the  beauty  and 
chivalry  of  the  surrounding  country  will  be  there, 
to  say  nothing  of  such  strangers  as  are  visiting  us. 
And,"  continued  she,  "we  will  take  Michael  and 
his  'wee  wicked  fiddle'  along  with  us  so  that  we  may 
have  a  dance,  if  the  Court  please,"  turning  prettily 
to  her  father  and  making  a  comic  gesture  of 
homage,  and  laughing  as  the  two  men  at  table 
smiled,  for  she  had  the  august  Judge  completely 
under  domination. 

"I  fear  the  evening  will  be  somewhat  tedious," 
said  Judge  Sloan,  glancing  longingly  toward  his 
chair  by  the  fireplace,  and  his  book  and  pipe  on  the 
table  near  it. 

"But,  father,"  Barbara  expostulated,  "Mr.  Sar- 
gent has  never  been  at  the  Fletchers',  nor  seen  any- 
thing so  perfectly  typical  of  our  Northern  Michigan 
life,  as  is  their  home.  I  think  it  is  but  due  to  him 
as  a  guest  that  we  should  give  him  opportunity  to 
see,  not  only  the  Fletchers  and  their  house,  but  our 
social  surroundings  just  as  they  are.  Mr.  Sargent 
has  not  stirred  from  our  place,  except  for  walks  in 
the  woods,  since  the  day  of  his  arrival. ' ' 

"Your  observations  are  quite  justified,  my  dear," 
the  Judge  confessed.  "We  must  take  Mr.  Sargent 


132  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A   MAN. 

to  Fletcher's;  the  visit  will  certainly  interest  and 
amuse  him — for  a  time  at  least — "and  the  good  man 
sighed  the  sigh  of  the  patient  parent  of  a  grown-up 
daughter. 

And  so  it  came  that  the  sound  of  sleigh  bells 
called  the  little  group  of  well-wrapped  people  to 
their  door  that  frosty  evening,  just  as  the  red  glow 
was  fading  in  the  west.  Michael  held  the  reins  of 
the  restless  horses,  and  Michael's  fiddle  was  under 
his  seat  in  the  sleigh.  Fur-booted  and  fur- wrapped, 
veiled  and  hooded,  Barbara  sprang  into  the  sleigh 
like  a  wood  sprite  weighed  down  only  by  her  weight 
of  garb.  And  Sargent  sat  down  beside  her.  Judge 
Sloan,  a  mere  bundle  of  comfortable  clothing, 
under  his  daughter's  watchful  care,  occupied  the 
seat  in  front  beside  Michael.  Heavy  buffalo  robes 
were  tucked  about  the  party,  and  the  horses  gave 
the  bells  a  shake. 

"They  feel  good,  them  horses,"  said  Tilda,  as  she 
stood  in  the  door  holding  a  lighted  lantern  of  tin 
with  holes  bored  in  it,  to  show  the  light  through,  the 
pattern  being  wrought  to  imitate  the  befeathered 
head  of  an  Indian  chief.  The  road  was  tolerably 
well  broken  for  the  sleigh,  and  it  seemed  but  a 
short  ride  over  the  eight  miles  which  intervened 
between  "Honey  Creek, "  Judge  Sloan's  place,  and 
the  old  house  of  the  Fletchers. 

The  moon  "shone  fair  on  field  and  fell, "as  the 
sleigh  dashed  up  in  front  of  the  great  log  Fletcher 
house.  Beside  the  road,  beyond  the  house, 
extended  a  long,  low,  open  shed,  already  fairly 
occupied  by  teams  which  had  brought  guests  in 


A   WINTER    FESTIVAL.  133 

sleighs,  "jumpers"  and  bobsleds.  Attached  to  one 
of  the  bobsleds  was  a  yoke  of  oxen,  and  from  the 
shed  came  the  sound  of  much  snorting  and  stamp- 
ing of  feet,  varied  by  an  occasional  bellow.  The 
bells  had  announced  the  arrival  of  the  new  party,  the 
door  of  the  house  opened,  a  flood  of  light  streamed 
out,  they  were  welcomed  hospitably  and  hurried 
inside  upon  a  scene  which  was  certainly  inspiriting. 

It  was  a  fine  old  log  house,  that  of  the  Fletchers, 
the  main  part  of  it  long  built,  but  built  exceeding 
well.  It  had  been,  originally,  but  a  rectangle,  its 
side  facing  the  road,  with  a  big  doorway  in  the 
middle,  and  a  big  window  on  either  side.  There 
had  been  partitions  then,  the  large  room  with  a 
fireplace  at  one  end,  and  two  bedrooms  and  a 
kitchen  at  the  other.  As  time  passed  and  children 
and  prosperity  came  to  the  pioneer  couple,  an 
addition  had  been  made  to  the  house  in  the  form  of 
a  wing  set  against  its  rear.  In  this  wing  were  all 
the  bedrooms  and  the  big  kitchen.  The  house  in 
its  new  form  was  a  "T,"  but  this  did  not  show  from 
the  road.  The  partitions  in  the  original  house  had 
been  removed,  and  it  was  now  one  great  room  with 
the  enormous  fireplace  at  one  end,  and  was  the 
general  sitting-room  and  living-room  of  the  big 
family. 

The  fireplace  was  just  as  it  had  been  twenty  years 
before.  In  front  of  it  the  wide  brick  hearth 
extended  far  out  into  the  room,  and  from  one  side 
of  the  huge  chimney  still  swung  the  iron  crane  from 
which,  before  the  wing  and  stove  stage,  had  hung 
the  kettles  in  which  hulled  corn,  and  frumenty,  and 


134  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

samp  had  been  cooked,  and  all  the  stewing  and 
boiling  of  the  old  days  had  been  done,  to  gain  a 
flavor  not  excelled  by  any  product  of  the  stove  in 
the  new  kitchen.  Upon  the  hearth  before  the  fire 
and  in  the  tin  oven  which  formerly  stood  there,  had 
been  cooked  such  "johnny-cake"  and  bread  as  the 
older  men  said  they  could  get  nowhere  nowadays. 
From  the  crane  had  once  hung  the  griddle,  where 
big  buckwheat  cakes  were  baked,  and  on  the  hearth 
above  the  raked-out  red  coals  had  once  stood  the 
three-legged  revolving  gridiron  on  which  venison 
steaks  were  broiled.  To  the  left  of  the  fireplace  the 
old-fashioned  dye-tub,  with  its  indigo  dye  and  its 
soaking  yarns,  still  occupied  a  place,  making  an 
excellent  seat  for  any  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  family,  and  on  the  right  stood  the  pile  of  fire- 
wood, such  as  had  been  brought  in  nightly  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

There  is  art  in  piling  up  the  firewood  brought  in  at 
night.  The  great  backlog,  of  hickory  or  hard 
maple,  must  be  lugged  in  first,  for  it  is  first  to  be 
utilized  in  the  morning.  It  must  be  laid  three  or 
four  feet  from  the  wall,  and  the  space  between  it 
and  the  wall  filled  with  the  split  ash  and  beech  and 
smaller  logs  used  for  constant  replenishing  of  the 
fire.  When  this  space  is  filled  about  even  with  the 
top  of  the  backlog,  the  forelog,  smaller  but  also  of 
hardwood,  must  be  brought  and  laid  well  in  front  of 
the  backlog.  Above  this  and  heaped  high  up 
against  the  wall  the  remainder  of  the  fuel  necessary 
may  be  laid  without  any  order.  All  this  is  because 
of  the  fire  building  of  the  morning,  when  he  whose 


A   WINTER    FESTIVAL.  135 

duty  it  is  to  get  up  and  build  the  fire  with  the 
thermometer  away  below  zero,  half  dresses 
hurriedly,  rushes  to  the  fireplace  where  nothing  is 
visible  but  white  ashes,  pulls  out  the  heavy  andirons, 
seizes  the  great  iron  shovel  standing  ever  at  hand, 
scrapes  the  ashes  away  from  the  back  of  the  fire- 
place and  exposes  a  great  mass  of  huge  living  coals, 
the  backlog  of  the  day  before.  He  pulls  them  to 
the  front,  clears  out  the  hollow  at  the  back,  heaves 
into  the  place  so  made  the  backlog  brought  in  the 
night  before,  covers  it  with  ashes,  shoves  the 
andirons  up  against  it,  one  on  either  side,  heaps  the 
blazing  coals  between  them,  throws  on  a  bit  or  two 
of  light  wood,  lays  the  forelog  in  front  squarely 
across  the  andirons,  and  then,  between  it  and  the 
chimney  back,  above  the  already  blazing  fire  below, 
lays  more  or  less  criss-cross,  so  that  air  and  flame 
may  circulate,  the  sticks  which  make  the  ordinary 
fuel.  There  is  a  roaring,  warming,  comforting  fire 
in  no  time. 

Six  or  eight  inches  from  the  floor,  in  the  jamb  at 
the  right  of  the  fireplace,  there  was  a  space  which 
shone  whitely  of  deep  abrasion  and  indentation; 
this  was  where  a  generation  had  kicked  its  frozen 
cowhide  boots  on  in  the  morning.  In  the  heavy 
oaken  floor,  a  little  at  one  side,  was  a  smooth  dark 
hollow,  charred  in  at  one  time ;  this  was  where  a 
"smudge,"  made  in  a  tin  pan  to  drive  away  mos- 
quitoes, had,  some  summer  night,  burned  too 
fiercely  and  fired  the  floor  beneath. 

Above  the  fireplace  was  a  mantel  shelf,  black  with 
smoke  and  age,  and  upon  it  were  various  articles  in 


136  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

common  use.  At  the  other  side  of  the  room  was 
another  shelf,  well  elevated.  Upon  its  middle 
stood  a  high  clock  with  an  imitation  mahogany 
frame,  the  lower  part  of  the  door  ornamented  with  a 
painted  flower-pot  holding  a  tremendous  bouquet  of 
red  roses  and  other  flowers.  On  one  side  of  the 
clock  stood  a  big  green  camphor  bottle,  and  on  the 
other  a  bottle  of  "cholagogue, "  a  sovereign  remedy 
for  fever  and  ague,  as  malaria  was  still  designated, 
danger  from  which  yet  lurked  in  the  swamps,  in 
the  spring  and  fall.  Further  along,  on  each  side 
were  coal-oil  lamps,  though  formerly  candles,  made 
by  dipping,  had  occupied  their  places.  To-night 
there  were  blazing  lamps  on  each  of  the  two 
shelves,  and  on  brackets  set  in  the  wall.  At  each 
end  of  the  clock-shelf  stood  a  vase  with  more  flowers 
upon  it.  Never,  even  in  summer,  were  real  flowers 
placed  in  such  vases.  They  were  purely  orna- 
mental ;  and  not  to  be  desecrated  by  use.  Upon  the 
walls  were  pictures,  two  colored  prints,  one  of 
Henry  Clay,  the  other  of  Frelinghuysen,  and  there 
was  another,  "Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware," 
and  one  of  an  old  English  landscape.  The  overflow 
to  northern  Michigan  had  been  mostly  from  New 
England  and  New  York.  There  were  chairs  and 
rocking  chairs  ranged  about  the  sides  of  the  room, 
and  in  one  place  stood  an  old  cherry  "bureau,"  in 
the  top  drawer  of  which  was  kept  the  smaller  finery 
of  the  girls,  in  the  second  that  of  the  men  and  boys, 
while  the  one  beneath  was  locked  and  belonged  to 
"Mother,"  as  one  of  the  children  told  Barbara 
during  the  evening,  telling  her  also  that  in  it  was  a 


A    WINTER    FESTIVAL.  137 

little  baby's  cap  which  had  grown  yellow,  and  that 
there  were  some  old  dresses  and  ribbons,  and 
pressed  flowers  and  a  red-stone  breastpin,  and  a 
little  book,  and  that  "Ma"  cried  some  times  when  she 
went  there. 

The  beams  of  the  low  ceiling  of  the  room  came 
down  almost  to  the  heads  of  the  tall  young  lumber- 
men and  farmers  and  wood-cutters,  who,  dressed  in 
their  best  and  awkward  in  consequence,  were  pay- 
ing their  court  with  bashful  zeal  to  the  beauty  and 
grace  of  Fletcher's  District. 

When  Judge  Sloan's  party  entered  there  had  been 
a  moment  of  confusion,  but  the  measured  chant 
that  could  be  heard  outside  very  soon  began  again. 
A  young  man  and  woman  stood  at  one  end  of  the 
room  with  their  hands  clasped  higher  than  their 
heads,  and  under  the  angle  formed  by  their  arms, 
the  merry-faced  girls  and  strong-featured,  laughing 
men  marched  one  by  one,  singing  to  an  air 
certainly  older  than  the  settlement  of  America : 

"The  needle's  eye, 
It  doth  supply 

The  thread  that  runs  so  true. 
There's  many  a  lass 
That  I've  let  pass, 
But  now  I  have  caught  you!" 

The  song  and  march  went  on  monotonously  over 
and  over  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  there  was  a 
great  shout  of  laughter,  a  little  pause,  and  the  song 
began  again,  with  a  new  girl  blushingly  holding  up 
the  hands  of  the  young  gallant  who  had  chosen  her. 
In  her  turn  she  must  now  choose  a  partner — and  a 


138  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

kiss  was  always  exchanged  between  the  two — the 
signal  for  the  shouting  and  the  laughing. 

Sargent  glanced  at  Barbara  as  she  stood  by  the 
fire  demurely  looking  on. 

"Let  us  join  the  players,"  he  said.  "Had  I  known 
about  'The  Needle's  Eye'  I  should  have  begged 
that  we  might  start  for  this  place  before  dinner." 

But  it  would  have  been  easier  for  the  camel  to 
get  through  the  eye  of  the  needle,  or  for  the  rich 
man  to  obtain  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  than  for 
Sargent  to  secure  what  he  craved  from  this 
particular  needle's  eye.  Barbara  promptly  intro- 
duced him  to  a  blooming  maiden  with  saucy  black 
eyes,  and  sent  the  couple  helplessly  on  their  way 
around  the  room.  Joining  her  father,  who  was  duly 
installed  in  the  place  of  honor  on  a  pine  settle  by 
the  side  of  the  pioneer  and  host,  Barbara  watched 
the  play  with  a  delighted  sympathy  which  had  in  it 
no  shadow  of  condescension  or  mock  modesty,  and 
yet  she  seemed  to  Sargent  to  be  far  away  from  the 
joyous  laughing  circle  in  which  he  found  himself. 
He  gave  himself  up  to  the  moment,  however,  and 
soon  became  the  center  of  the  riot  and  fun  of  the 
merry-makers.  It  could  not  well  be  otherwise,  he 
entered  with  such  zest  into  the  spirit  of  the 
occasion,  and  as  he  towered  even  above  most  of 
the  stalwart  woodsmen,  his  magnetic  personality  and 
his  striking,  laughing  face  won  all  at  once.  They 
liked  him,  and  he  felt  it  and  was  very  glad  of  it. 
If  he  could  not  have  Barbara,  he  could,  at  least,  be 
a  thorough  boy  for  an  hour  or  so.  Besides,  the 
black-eyed  girl  was  certainly  very  pretty. 


A   WINTER    FESTIVAL.  139 

Soon  the  song  was  changed,  and  the  company 
took  hold  of  hands  and  began  circling  around  a 
pink  cheeked  and  pink  gowned  girl  standing  alone 
in  the  center  of  the  space  made  by  the  singing 
players.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the  play  ended. 

"So  the  farmer  sows  his  seed 
And  scatters  far  what  he  may  need, 
Stamps  his  foot  and  waves  his  hand 
And  turns  around  and  views  the  land!" 

So  sang  the  chorus  of  careless  young  voices,  the 
lines  which  have  later  wandered  even  into  the 
kindergartens,  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  the 
great  feet  of  the  men,  shod  in  cow-skin,  coming 
down  on  the  bare  floor  with  a  loud  bang,  and  the 
more  lightly  clad  feet  of  the  girls  making  a  patter- 
ing noise  by  their  side.  Round  and  round  they 
whirled,  the  bright  faces  flushed  in  the  lamp  light, 
and  "clap!  clap!"  went  big  brown  hands  and  smaller 
ones  as  the  game  unwound  itself,  always  coming  to 
a  climax  of  kissing  and  then  beginning  all  over  again. 

Barbara  went  with  the  young  women  of  the 
Fletcher  family  into  the  new  kitchen,  and  helped 
them  set  out  the  supper  on  long  tables  made  of 
boards  set  across  wooden  "saw-horses"  and  covered 
by  coarse,  well-bleached  linen.  Here,  from  time  to 
time,  came  trooping  admiring  elderly  women,  doing 
homage  to  the  wonders  of  the  Fletcher  cuisine. 

There  were  two  immense  game  pies,  cold,  as  was 
everything  on  the  table  excepting  the  boiling  coffee, 
a  boiled  and  roasted  ham,  with  cloves  stuck  all 
over  it,  and  roasted  chickens  and  turkeys,  great 


140  THE    LAUNCHING   OF    A   MAN. 

platters  of  bread  and  butter  and  pans  of  doughnuts, 
plates  of  pickles  and  glasses  of  jelly  and  jam,  and 
on  every  other  space  a  pie  of  mince  or  apple,  or  a 
cake  of  famous  construction.  Pitchers  of  coffee 
stood  along  the  middle,  each  with  a  smaller  jug  of 
rich  cream  beside  it,  and  the  table  was,  when  the 
girls  had  finished  setting  it,  a  cheering  sight. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  whole  merry  group  came 
pouring  in,  and  the  supper  was  no  play.  When  the 
company  returned  to  the  big  room  there  sat 
Michael,  dreaming  away  over  his  violin,  playing 
snatches  of  strange  old  minor  tunes,  mingled  with 
"Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,"  and  other  dancing  airs. 
Then,  with  a  flourish  of  his  bow,  he  was  off  with  the 
enlivening  strains  of  ' '  Money  Musk. ' ' 

And  now  Sargent  caught  the  hand  of  Barbara  for 
just  a  moment  in  his  own,  and  begged  her  to  dance 
with  him.  And  she  consented  and  they  stood  up 
opposite  each  other  and  went  down  the  middle 
together  and  outside  alone  and  wound  their  way 
from  one  end  to  the  other  in  breathless  and  joyous 
abandon,  and,  although  there  was  no  kiss  to  this 
play,  it  was  nevertheless  the  most  enjoyed  of  all  that 
evening,  by  these  two  young  people,  at  least. 

There  was  much  bustle  and  merriment  when  the 
time  came  for  departure.  Team  after  team  was 
driven  up  before  the  door,  and  load  after  load  of 
merrymakers  hid  themselves  between  the  robes. 
The  horses  came  from  the  shed,  frost-fringed  and 
prancing,  and  dashed  away  impatiently  for  their 
distant  stables.  Even  the  solitary  ox-team,  draw- 
ing a  jumper,  was  full  of  fire  and  the  oxen  clashed 


A    WINTER    FESTIVAL.  141 

their  white  horns  together  impatiently  and  started 
off  in  a  cumbrous  trot;  while  the  log-chain  jangled 
and  banged  from  the  yoke  to  the  iron  pin  at  the 
other  end  of  the  sleigh-tongue,  and  the  bright  night 
was  full  of  clamor  in  all  directions.  The  Sloan 
party  left  with  the  others,  though  more  quietly. 
From  a  sleigh  behind  them  came  a  chorus  of 
voices  joining  in  the  singing: 

"Buffalo  gals,  ain't  ye  comin'  out  to-night? 
Comin'  out  to-night !  comin'  out  to-night ! 
Buffalo  gals,  ain't  ye  comin'  out  to-night, 
To  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon?" 

By  contrast,  as  they  passed  a  cross  road,  there 
came  floating  to  them  across  the  field  from  another 
sleigh,  the  words  of  Toplady's  wonderful  old  hymn: 

' '  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee." 

Close  together  beneath  the  warm  robes  Sargent 
and  Barbara  sat  silently.  His  arm  stole  about  her, 
but  its  pressure  was  a  farce.  He  almost  dared,  but 
dared  not.  Her  head  was  close  to  his,  though,  and 
her  warm  breath  was  upon  his  face.  It  was  an  hour 
of  bliss.  All  the  way  back  that  night,  the  bells 
sang  a  sweet  song  to  Sargent,  and  who  can  tell 
what  they  said  to  Barbara? 


142  THE    LAUNCHING   OF  A  MAN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"THE  CAVE   OF  SILVER." 

And  the  days  passed.  Happily  unhappy  or 
unhappily  happy,  was  the  deep  chested  and 
splendid  youth  who  went  perplexed  about  to  woo 
the  young  woman  of  the  woods.  It  was  curious,  but 
by  no  means  new.  It  is  only  what  happens  to 
young  men  of  good  brains  and  good  blood — that 
which  came  to  Sargent  throughout  this  period  of 
watching  and  waiting  and  hoping  and  dreaming 
and  planning  and  much  fooling  and  much  brave 
silliness. 

Take  a  young  Anglo-Saxon  male  of  decent  herit- 
age and  qualities,  and  then  send  him  through  a 
university,  and,  queerly  enough,  he  ordinarily  can- 
not at  first  reason  with  that  degree  of  practicality 
which  adapts  most  easily  the  means  to  the  ends 
desired.  It  does  not  matter  much  whether  the  end 
to  be  attained  be  the  hand  of  a  young  woman,  with 
her  feet  and  her  head  and  the  rest  of  her  likewise, 
or  control  of  the  stock  of  some  railroad  which 
might  be  made  dividend-paying  in  time.  The 
young  graduate  has  yet  to  learn  that  learning  is 
but  the  hammer  with  which  rocks  may  be  split. 
But  the  rocks  can  be  split  only  when  the  blow  is 
delivered  with  a  certain  impact  and  at  a  certain 


"THE    CAVE    OF    SILVER."  143 

angle.  The  impact  and  angle  can  be  learned  only 
by  attrition  with  other  human  beings  in  the  world 
of  men  and  women. 

So  Sargent  reasoned  bunglingly.  He  said  to  him- 
self— this  was  in  a  fretful  mood,  and  his  fretful 
train  of  reasoning  had  become  almost  constant — 
"What  is  the  reason  that  I  cannot  get  what  I  want? 
Here  I  am,  I  who  have  worked  hard  and  have 
become  a  good  engineer,  and  who  am  in  love  with  a 
woman,  and  who  feel  within  myself  the  ability  to 
care  for  her  as  a  woman  should  be  cared  for  and  to 
protect  not  only  her  but  her  kith  and  kin.  She 
doesn't  care  for  anybody  else,  that  I  know.  She 
cares  for  me,  that  I  know  too,  but  there  is  something 
queer  about  her  caring.  She  ought  to  know.  She 
does  know.  What's  the  matter  with  the  red-haired 
reed  of  a  thing?  What's  the  matter?  What  am  I 
to  do?"  And  he  would  take  a  gun  and  plunge  off 
into  the  woods  and  make  a  circuit  of  fifteen  miles  or 
so,  and  come  back  with  a  couple  of  ruffed  grouse 
and  a  rabbit  or  two,  and  say  he  had  been  having  a 
fine  time.  He  was  a  liar,  and  yet  the  good-blooded 
youth  would  not  have  stood  and  told  a  lie  know- 
ingly, even  to  gain  for  himself  the  girl  he  wanted. 
It  was  but  the  old  story  of  a  woman  of  younger 
years  being  older  than  the  man.  Doubtless  when 
Clive  and  Hastings  were  seizing  India  there  went 
often  into  the  Eastern  world  other  young  men  of 
similar  blood  and  quality,  who  said  good-bye, 
among  their  other  good-byes,  to  girls  who  did  not 
grasp  the  situation  with  all  its  relations  as  pertaining 

to  the  young  male  animal.     The  fellows  who  went 
10 


144  THE   LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 

out  with  Clive  and  Hastings  probably  came  back 
with  more  or  less  of  wealth  and  honor  and  a 
thousand  tugging  fancies  in  their  young  hearts  when 
they  sought  the  girls  again.  As  far  as  the  record 
goes  they  found  most  of  their  old  sweethearts 
married,  and  all  of  them  full  faced  and  thick- 
waisted,  having  married  young,  and  being  more 
or  less  happy  or  unhappy  until  they  died,  while 
the  young  adventurers  found  for  themselves 
new  sweethearts,  without  trouble  now,  and 
thought  no  more  of  the  old  ones.  They  had 
become  men. 

All  sympathy,  however,  "is  not  to  be  bestowed 
upon  Sargent  alone.  Barbara  had  her  troubles,  no 
less  serious.  She  could  not  but  understand  how 
this  young  giant  loved  her,  and  there  is  no  better 
saying  among  all  the  proverbs  than  that  "love 
begets  love. ' '  There  was  a  wealth  of  clean  loving 
and  strong  affection  in  the  creature,  and  here  was  a 
good  object  for  its  expenditure  right  at  hand.  What 
should  she  do?  There  were  nights  when  the  young 
woman  did  not  sleep  well.  There  was  night  after 
night  when,  like  those  of  the  man,  her  own  fancies 
ran  away  with  her,  and  she  dreamed  of  how  the 
struggle  might  be  made  with  him  to  be  begun  then 
and  there  and  carried  forward,  on  her  part  at  least, 
as  it  should  be  done  by  a  good  wife.  But  there  was 
logic  in  her  and  much  filial  quality,  and  after  all, 
though  not  as  years  go,  she  was  older  than  he,  so 
maybe  it  was  the  best  for  her,  but  her  course  is 
not  to  be  recommended  to  all  the  world.  She 
resolved  not  to  be  "carried  off  her  feet"  by  Sargent. 


"THE    CAVE    OF    SILVER."  145 

He  must  wait,  she  said  to  herself.  If  he  loved  her 
in  reality  he  would  come  back,  and  while  he  was 
away  she  could  make  up  her  mind  whether  she 
loved  him  well  enough  to  be  his  wife.  He  must 
wait.  That  the  girl  decided  and  she  vowed  to  her- 
self to  stand  by  the  decision. 

There  came  a  moment  when  Sargent  could  no 
longer  keep  his  tongue  from  speaking  out  of  the 
fullness  of  his  heart.  It  was  just  before  his  going 
away.  The  two  young  people  were  seated  by  the 
western  window  of  the  cosy  sitting-room,  watching 
the  reddening  of  the  snow  on  the  pines  and  on  the 
hills  as  the  sun  set  in  a  cold,  clear  sky. 

Barbara  was  talking  earnestly.  With  an  effort, 
Sargent  made  himself  take  notice  that  she  was 
commenting  on  Thackeray  and  his  creations.  ' '  His 
men  are  all  right,  but  how  I  hate  his  women!" 
declared  the  fair  critic,  and,  right  then  and  exactly 
there,  literary  subjects  were  dropped  from  the  con- 
versations of  those  two  people  for  some  time  to 
come. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  Sargent's  world;  he 
had  no  thought  or  care  for  anything  but  for  the  girl 
who  sat  facing  him,  her  hair  shining  in  the  fading 
light.  And  this  the  young  man  told  her,  with  such 
earnestness  and  power  that  Barbara  paled  as  she 
heard  his  words.  She  became  serious  instantly,  and 
listened  to  him  quietly  until  his  eloquence  had 
spent  itself,  and  then  he  stopped  suddenly, 
frightened  by  her  silence  and  seriousness.  Could 
it  be  that  she  for  whom  he  was  as  molten  lava,  was 
but  unyielding  ice?  His  glowing  heart  turned 


146  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

cold.  A  moment  ago  he  had  begged  her  to  speak. 
Now  he  was  afraid  to  hear  her,  and  he  began  again 
to  urge  his  love  and  plead  for  himself.  At  last  he 
stopped  in  his  wild  torrent  of  talk,  and  then, 
answering  him  in  a  gentle  voice,  with  a  manner 
new  and  strange  for  the  imperious  Barbara,  she 
said  that  she  could  not  give  the  lover  cause  to 
hope  that  she  might  love  him  enough  to  be  his 
wife. 

"Why?  why?"  urged  the  stricken  man. 

She  told  him  he  was  young,  with  all  the  world 
before  him,  even  as  she  was,  and  that  it  was  too 
soon  for  either  of  them  to  talk  of  marriage. 

"My  life  seems  pretty  well  laid  out  for  me  here," 
she  said  with  a  little  note  of  sadness  in  her  voice, 
"but  yours  is  all  before  you.  It  is  better  for  you  to 
go  out  into  it  free;  you  have  to  win  your  spurs. 
You  do  not  know  what  trials  may  be  ahead  of  you, 
or  what  triumphs,  or,  perhaps,  defeats. ' ' 

"In  short,"  interrupted  Sargent,  smarting  under 
the  pain  of  it  all,  "you  refuse  me  because  I  am 
young  and  inexperienced,  poor,  and  so,  uncertain  as 
to  the  future.  You  do  not  love  me  nor  even  care 
deeply  for  me,  and  you  wish  me  a  very  good  ten  or 
twenty  years  in  which  to  win  my  spurs !  I  tell  you, 
Barbara  Sloan,  you  are  my  spur, — you  shall  drive 
me  on  to  fortune,  and  so  that  much  of  you  I  have 
won!  No  more,  I  know, — but  without  your  love  I 
care  for  nothing ! ' ' 

And  the  poor  fellow  dashed  out  of  the  room  and 
plunged  out  of  the  house  into  the  drifts,  for  a  walk 
in  the  snow  and  the  almost  arctic  cold. 


"THE   CAVE    OF   SILVER."  14? 

It  was  a  cruel  blow;  its  effects  grew  worse  and 
worse  the  more  he  thought  of  it.  But,  at  last, 
Sargent  remembered  that  he  was  a  man,  and  so 
must  be  reasonable  and  strong,  and  tender  toward 
the  woman  who  had  inflicted  the  wound  he  was 
suffering  from,  and  he  floundered  back  to  the 
house. 

At  the  early  lamp-lighted  dinner,  Barbara  was  a 
shade  more  sedate  than  usual.  That  was  the  only 
change  in  her  from  her  usual  buoyant  mood.  She 
proposed,  after  dinner,  as  it  was  the  last  night  of 
Sargent's  visit,  that  the  evening  be  spent  in  the 
"old  house,"  as  the  kitchen  wing  was  called,  with 
stories  and  songs  for  entertainment  and  with  cider, 
nuts  and  cakes  for  refreshments. 

"The  house  should  be  more  pleasant 
And  the  guest  be  more  contented." 

This  last  Barbara  gave  with  the  sing-song  of 
Hiawatha. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  bustle  of  Tilda's 
"clearing  up"  was  over,  all  of  those  who  dwelt 
under  Judge  Sloan's  roof  were  gathered  around  the 
great  hearthstone — Tilda,  and  Michael,  too,  with  his 
fiddle,  by  Barbara's  special  invitation,  for  she  meant 
to  have  some  Norwegian  music  to  lead  up  to  the 
story-telling  and  talk  which  was  sure  to  last  until 
midnight,  long  after  the  hard-working  Norse  people 
were  in  their  beds. 

To  begin  with,  the  Judge,  who  was  an  enthusiastic 
and  accomplished  student  of  Norse  lore  and 


148  THE    LAUNCHING   OF    A    MAN. 

literature,  told  a  blood-curdling  werewolf  story, 
and,  when  it  was  done,  Michael  took  up  his  violin 
unasked  and  began  to  play.  His  music  was  made 
of  that  of  the  folk  songs  of  Norway,  with  his  own 
strange  fancies  woven  in  between.  There  were 
slow  minor  love  songs,  and  odd,  crashing,  short- 
breathed  dances,  and  funeral  dirges,  and  frolicsome 
wedding  lays,  all  coming  from  the  little  red  fiddle 
with  Michael's  black  eyes  shining  over  it.  At  the 
waving  of  his  wand  of  a  fiddlestick,  the  minds  of 
the  little  audience  were  full  of  the  images  set 
before  them  by  the  fantastic  young-old  wizard.  By 
and  by,  as  he  played  a  slow,  melancholy  strain,  his 
mother,  Tilda,  began  to  sing.  Michael  at  once 
dropped  into  an  accompaniment,  and  the  two 
finished  the  song.  They  were  urged  to  continue, 
and  then  their  old  Norwegian  songs,  grave  and  gay, 
followed  in  quick  succession. 

Barbara  asked  for  a  song  in  English.  "Father 
has  translated  two  or  three  of  Tilda's  songs, 
and  she  has  learned  the  English  words,"  she 
explained  to  Sargent,  who  had  often  before 
been  a  charmed  listener  to  Michael's  music,  and 
who  well  knew  Tilda's  Norwegian  songs,  from 
hearing  her  as  she  sang  at  her  work  about  the 
house. 

"Please  sing  'The  Cave  of  Silver,'  Tilda,  and  in 
English,"  she  asked  the  old  woman,  who  was 
pleased  and  flushed  with  the  joy  of  singing  her 
national  songs  to  three  admiring  hearers. 

Michael  at  once  began  playing  a  strong,  low-toned, 
monotonous  strain.  He  drew  his  bow  with  vibrat- 


"THE    CAVE    OF    SILVER."  149 

ing  force  across  the  strings,  and  swung  his  ungainly 
body  from  side  to  side. 

Tilda  swung  in  her  high-backed  rocking-chair. 
She  closed  her  eyes,  listening  to  the  long  wail  of  the 
violin,  and,  when  she  opened  them,  she  seemed  to 
look  out  beyond  the  walls  of  the  house  to  the 
distant  snow-covered  hills.  Her  eyes  had  in  them 
bright  lights,  but  they  seemed  not  to  see  anything 
but  the  pictures  drawn  in  imagination  by  the  words 
she  sang. 

The  air  of  the  song  was  one  of  those  unchanging, 
long-drawn  tunes  of  the  people,  dwelling  on  one 
note  throughout  a  line  almost,  to  fall  in  a  minor 
interval  at  the  last  word, — a  sort  of  music  which 
grows  as  naturally  among  primitive  peoples  as  does 
the  moss  upon  the  beech  tree. 

There  was  a  wild  yet  melancholy  power  in  the 
strange  contralto  voice  which  poured  forth  the  old 
Saga  without  a  tremor  of  age  or  weakness.  The 
sturdy  form  of  the  singer  rocked  slightly  backward 
and  forward,  as  her  chair  rocked.  Her  hands  were 
once  or  twice  raised  a  little  with  the  impulse  of  her 
song,  and  then  dropped  carelessly  in  her  lap.  In 
the  pauses  between  verses,  the  violin  took  up  and 
continued  the  unvarying  strain  with  piercing  itera- 
tion and  strenuous  power,  and  then,  as  the  singer 
resumed,  dropped  into  a  simple,  harmonious 
accompaniment. 

This  was  the  song  they  sang,  old  Tilda  and  the 
violin : 


15°  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

"Go,  seek  me  the  Cave  of  Silver! 
Go,  find  me  the  Cave  of  Silver ! 
Go,  seek  me  the  Cave  of  Silver!" 

Said  Hilda  to  Brock  the  Bold. 
"And  then  you  may  kiss  me  often, 
And  then  you  may  ring  my  finger, 
And  then  you  may  bind  our  true  love 

With  a  round  hoop  of  gold. 

"For  Hilma,  the  witch,  has  told  me 
That  up  in  the  wild  Lapp  mountains 
There  lieth  the  Cave  of  Silver, 

More  precious  than  caves  of  gold ; 
Beyond  the  purple  pastures, 
Beyond  the  shining  meadows, 
High  up  in  the  wild  Lapp  mountains 

Seek  ye,  oh,  Brock  the  Bold ! 

"Bring  me  no  skins  of  foxes, 
Bring  me  no  fur  of  otter, 
Boast  not  your  fighting  vessels ; 

Hear  me,  oh,  Brock  the  Bold ! 
For  I  would  lie  upon  velvet, 
And  sail  in  a  golden  galley, 
And  naught  but  the  Cave  of  Silver 

Will  win  me,  Brock  the  Bold!" 

"I  go,"  said  Brock,  right  proudly, 
"I  go  to  the  far-off  mountains, 
To  seek  the  Cave  of  Silver, 

More  precious  than  caves  of  gold ! 


"THE    CAVE    OF    SILVER."  151 

But  when  the  wild  Lapp  arrows 
Have  pierced  the  heart  that  loved  you, 
I  leave  my  curse  on  the  woman 

Who  slaughtered  Brock  the  Bold!" 


And  Summer  passed,  and  Winter 
Came  down  from  the  far-off  mountains, 
But  back  from  the  Cave  of  Silver 

Came  never  Brock  the  Bold. 
And  the  maiden  Hilda  waited, 
And  sat  at  her  door  at  evening, 
And  watched  the  gleaming  lances 

Of  the  North  so  bright  and  cold. 

"Oh,  wild  Norwegian  gallants, 
Go,  seek  for  my  lonely  lover, 
Go,  seek  for  the  Cave  of  Silver, 

Where  tarries  Brock  the  Bold!" 
But  the  wild  Norwegian  gallants 
They  laughed  at  the  cruel  maiden 
Who  away  to  the  wild  Lapp  arrows 

Had  driven  Brock  the  Bold ! 

And  she  mourned  for  the  Cave  of  Silver, 
And  she  mourned  for  the  purple  pastures, 
And  she  mourned  for  her  lonely  lover, 

Till  her  heart  and  her  face  grew  cold ! 
But  back  from  the  shining  meadows, 
Or  back  from  the  wild  Lapp  mountains, 
Or  back  from  the  Cave  of  Silver, 

Came  never  Brock  the  Bold ! 


152 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 


Long  afterwards  Sargent,  humming  the  ancient 
air  to  a  sympathetic  musician,  contrived  to  get  it  in 
written  form  as  it  appears  here,  a  wild  spirit  impris- 
oned behind  conventional  bars  at  last: 


JLl,    f  j  1  K  fc  1              h  1  :  :  —  1  —  1  N  h  — 

NH  —  i  :  r- 

ir  c  j 

"Go 

seek   me  the  cave    of  sil-ver,     Go  find    me  the  cave     of  ill-ver,     Go 

J          f 

'• 

i=f  i= 

J  j  j 

r       r 

4=4=^ 

»  a  J  i 

-a  ° 

1  Ls  —  j  —  p_i 

seek    me    the  cave       of   «il  .  ver,"8aid  Hil-da        to  Brock  the  Bold;         "And 

&        1          J'     J    M-|»   J' 
*>L     J                        J~T" 

f 

«±=  —  *± 

F^F 
^N= 

trf 

sg  —  •  a  —  i  j  «  -j  

r    r      J  3     g; 

^         p                                                                             cr**c 

•]-  -J--^  *  "  '  ' 

g>'  j    j  j  j.    J  r  j  j    j  i 

then   you  may  kiss     me     of  *  ten.     And 

*    ^'  ^^-    ^'j  j    j=i 

then   you  may  bind    my   fin  -  ger,    And 

"'  pf           f 

>J»L        I          4             J=^= 

pf 

1     ,      J 

b  J    -1     J   3   '3  ^    3'j 

+- 

^  'M  - 

then     yon    may  bind           our 

true   love,       With  the  round       hoop  of 

joidT 

_  ^«===^^^; 

z     r 

J          J 

- 

3  i    i 

i  F 

1  —  F 

I" 

"THE    CAVE    OF   SILVER."  153 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  the  song  was 
finished,  and  the  wind  blustered  about  the  chimney 
and  sung  its  own  wild  song.  And  then  Judge  Sloan 
courteously  thanked  old  Tilda  and  her  son  and 
during  the  conversation  which  followed  they  dis- 
appeared from  the  room.  After  a  time  the  Judge 
went  to  his  book-room  to  get  a  volume  or  two  of  the 
old  Norse  literature  he  loved,  to  show  to  Sargent, 
and  the  two  young  people  were  left  alone.  Sargent 
sat  looking  into  the  fire,  and,  at  some  slight  move- 
ment or  remark  from  Barbara,  he  looked  up  at  her, 
for  she  stood  by  the  table,  the  lamp  shining  on  her 
face.  Sargent,  too,  arose  and  came  close  to 
Barbara.  There  was  in  his  eyes  a  bright,  steady 
look,  and  his  face  had  in  it  a  new  firmness  and 
resolve. 

"The  maiden  Hilda  was  not  the  last  woman  to 
send  a  poor  fellow  out  into  the  world,"  he  said. 
Then  his  face  changed.  "I  am  going  to-morrow, 
but  I  am  afraid  there  will  be  no  mourning  or  watch- 
ing for  me" — and  his  voice  broke,  for,  as  has  been 
said  before,  he  was  but  a  boy,  after  all. 

Barbara  grew  rosy  and  then  pale.  She  remained 
silent,  except  for  an  inarticulate  murmur  of  sorrow 
or  regret — who  can  tell? — and  Judge  Sloan  re- 
entered  the  room,  his  arm  piled  high  with  precious 
books.  There  was  a  long  evening  together,  of 
legend,  story  and  song,  and  then  they  all  said 
good-night. 

In  the  morning,  after  the  three  had  breakfasted 
cheerily  together,  Sargent  took  up  his  homeward 
journey,  this  time  with  a  party  of  woodsmen,  with 


154  THE    LAUNCHING  OP  A  MAN. 

dogs  and  sledges,  and  the  journey  was  quickly  made. 
The  youngster's  heart  was  heavy,  but  he  was 
buoyed  up  by  hope.  Somehow,  it  would  not  fade 
out  of  him.  And  he  hummed  the  old  song  of  the 
Northland,  and  thought  how  he  would  force  a 
different  ending  to  the  tale  of  the  "  Cave  of  Silver." 


IN    A    NEW    WORLD.  155 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN   A  NEW  WORLD. 

In  all  the  world  there  is  nothing  so  unconsciously 
helpless  as  a  young  man,  without  means  or  friends, 
in  a  great  city.  Especially  is  this  true  where  the 
young  fellow  is  smarting  under  the  first  real  trouble 
of  his  life.  In  seeking  shelter  and  food,  he  of 
necessity  must  make  acquaintances,  and  being 
youthful  and  hungry  for  society  knows  no  better 
than  to  accept  such  companionship  as  comes  with 
the  routine  and  machinery  of  daily  living. 

Sargent,  on  the  lookout  for  a  room,  called  one 
morning  at  a  tall  house  of  stone  and  brick  on 
Wabash  Avenue.  He  had  found  the  house  in  which 
he  had  formerly  lodged  when  in  Chicago  calmly 
moving  down  the  street  in  a  manner  as  dignified  as 
could  be  expected  from  a  large  frame  building  at 
the  end  of  a  rope  wound  around  a  windlass. 
Sargent  was  impressed  but  disappointed.  He 
must  begin  anew  his  search  for  a  home.  The 
wide  avenue  looked  like  a  village  street,  with  its 
houses  set  back  from  the  wooden  pavements,  with 
green  plats  of  grass  surrounded  by  painted  iron  or 
wood  picket  fences,  beside  wide  sidewalks,  with 
grass  plats  between  them  and  the  roadway,  and 
spreading  trees  on  either  side.  Mrs.  Graves'  house 
\vas  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  on  Wabash 


156  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 

Avenue.  It  had  no  green  grass  plat — its  basement 
rose  from  unsodded  ground,  carefully  graveled,  it 
is  true.  There  was  an  iron  fence  and  gate,  and  iron- 
grated  windows  all  around  the  basement  story. 
Two  clanging  doorbells  alarmed  the  house  when- 
ever any  one  sought  entrance  at  the  basement,  or 
stood  on  the  landing  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading 
up  to  the  double  front  doors  of  black  walnut.  A 
scared-looking,  shabby  young  girl  always  opened 
these  doors.  She  admitted  Sargent,  on  the  day  of 
his  first  call,  and,  after  closing  the  door,  amused  the 
caller  by  standing  with  wide  admiring  eyes  looking 
at  him  very  approvingly  before  she  disappeared, 
leaving  the  visitor  standing  upon  the  polished  floor 
of  black  and  white  marble  looking  helplessly  at  the 
high  narrow  walls  and  stairway,  and  the  massive 
ugly  hall  chair  and  hat-rack  of  black  walnut,  the 
sole  furniture  in  sight.  No  one  ever  sat  down  on 
the  chair,  or  hung  his  hat  upon  the  arms  of  that 
truculent-looking  rack.  One's  instinct  was  to  keep 
hat  in  hand  and  person  in  readiness,  as  with  one 
foot  uplifted,  for  instant  flight. 

Yet  Sargent  did  not  run  when  he  had  been 
admitted  to  this  hall  of  silence  and  decorous  gloom. 
He  stood  there  waiting  for  the  proprietress,  having 
told  the  "slavey"  who  opened  the  door  that  he 
desired  to  look  at  a  room  for  himself.  As  he  waited, 
he  felt  a  presence,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  beautiful 
child,  or  rather  a  young  girl,  coming  down  the  stairs. 
She  glanced  shyly  at  Sargent  as  she  turned  the 
corner  and  ran  down  the  basement  stairs  which  were 
directly  under  the  main  stairway.  Sargent  had  a 


IN   A    NEW    WORLD.  157 

sheepish  feeling  that  the  pallid  serving  maid  had 
sent  this  lovely  child  in  to  take  a  look  at  him.  If 
he  had  before  any  inclination  to  run,  the  sight  of 
that  sweet,  childish  face  framed  in  wreaths  of  dark 
hair,  and  that  graceful,  slender  figure,  would  have 
checked  him.  He  decided,  at  once,  to  be  suited 
with  the  lodgings  provided  by  Mrs.  Graves,  whose 
house  had  been  recommended  to  him  by  a  young 
man  at  the  office.  Of  course  Sargent  had  no  serious 
intentions,  nor  any  even  tinged  with  gallantry, 
toward  the  beautiful  stranger — he  was  only  attracted 
by  that  irresistible  loadstone  to  a  young  man's  fancy, 
a  fair  face. 

Mrs.  Graves,  noiseless  of  step,  downcast  of  eyes, 
quiet  and  black-clad,  with  a  widow's  bonnet  and 
a  veil  casting  additional  gloom  over  the  place, 
appeared,  and  with  her  Sargent  arranged  to  have  a 
large  square  sleeping  room  on  the  third  floor,  pay- 
ing a  not  unreasonable  sum  for  it.  His  meals  he 
had  chosen  to  eat  at  restaurants.  In  Mrs.  Graves' 
house  no  table  was  se*t  for  boarders.  She  rented 
her  rooms,  most  of  them  by  the  year,  to  men  of  a 
sort  of  regular  irregularity,  so  far  as  hours  were 
concerned,  but  certainty  as  to  pay,  and  knew  and 
cared  no  more  about  them.  Her  name,  Mrs.  Graves, 
probably  caused  the  uncanny  suggestion,  but  her 
face  reminded  Sargent  of  one  of  the  long,  narrow, 
white  marble  headstones  which  mark  so  many 
graves  in  the  cemeteries  of  the  West.  Her  coun- 
tenance was  long  and  narrow,  with  a  square  fore- 
head and  chin,  and  she  was  always  pale.  Her 
features  were  regular.  Her  hair  was  dark,  and 


158  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

rich  in  color  and  profusion,  but  her  eyes  and  lips 
were  colorless  and  her  look  was  still  and  expression- 
less. She  was  always  dressed  in  black,  her  gowns 
fitting  exquisitely  her  graceful  figure,  but  only  once 
or  twice  did  Sargent  ever  see  her  without  her 
widow's  bonnet  with  its  long  crepe  veil  streaming 
down  her  back.  She  was  often  pulling  on  or  off 
black  kid  gloves,  out  of  which  her  white  hands  came 
with  startling  effect. 

All  work  in  that  house,  from  answering  the 
doorbell  to  carrying  up  and  down  stairs  and  putting 
in  place  heavy  furniture  and  trunks,  seemed  to  be 
done  in  solitary  struggles,  with  which  no  one  inter- 
fered, by  the  slender,  shabby  girl,  whose  abbreviated 
name,  "Em,"  was  called  out  all  day  from  various 
parts  of  the  house  by  whoever  had  a  task  for  her. 
On  the  day  after  Sargent  took  possession  of  his 
room,  when  he  was  coming  downstairs  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  met  the  undersized,  thin-armed  Em  bringing 
his  trunk  upstairs.  The  young"  man  from  the 
country  was  surprised  at  seeing  a  girl  laboring  in 
this  manner.  He  seized  the  trunk,  as  the  panting 
woman  creature  stopped  for  breath  on  the  step 
where  she  was  laboring,  and,  unheeding  her  pro- 
test, shouldered  it  and  ran  up  to  his  room,  setting 
down  the  heavy  thing  with  a  bang  which  shook  the 
house. 

"Em!"  called  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Graves  from  the 
basement,  "Em!  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Nothing,  'm, "  the  tearful  voice  of  Em  replied 
over  the  banisters.  "It's  the  new  lodger,  a-openin' 
his  trunk." 


IN    A    NEW    WORLD.  159 

The  pitiful  figure  now  came  to  Sargent's  door,  and 
stood  with  a  hand  upon  each  post.  She  was  a 
young  creature,  stunted  in  growth,  broad-shouldered, 
with  skinny  arms,  and  she  was  bent  and  thin.  Her 
face  had  the  pallor  of  a  prison,  almost,  but  her  eyes 
were  bright,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  audacity 
and  fear,  which  was  the  surprising  feature  of  her 
otherwise  commonplace  face. 

"Oh!  Mister,  won't  I  get  it!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Why?  Is  that  what  I  get  for  helping  you?"  said 
Sargent,  laughing. 

"Oh,  but  you  might  a'  jarred  the  plaster  off  the 
second  front's  ceiling,  and  then  what  would  happen 
to  me?  I'll  never  dare  tell  Mrs.  Graves  what  you 
did!  Why,  that's  nothing  for  me.  I  tug  and  I  lug 
and  I  fetch  and  I  carry  all  day,  and  purty  nigh  all 
night  sometimes  and  nobody  ever  cares  or  thinks 
anything  about  it.  Say,  Mister,  what's  yer  name?" 

"Sargent,"  was  the  reply,  and  evidently  not  at  all 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  energetic  Em,  for  she 
expostulated : 

"Why,  that's  a  common  name — excuse  me,  I 
don't  mean  any  harm,  but,  somehow,  I  thought  you 
might  be  a  Montmorenci  or  Llewellyn,  or  some  one 
of  a  more  romanticer  name  than  Sargent,  but  of 
course  a  Montmorenci  would  never  a'  carried  his 
trunk  upstairs,  I  might  a'  known." 

Sargent  laughed  again.  "I  imagine  you  have  a 
taste  for  novels,"  he  said  good-naturedly,  drawing 
out  the  eager  mind  which  seemed  caged  in  the  frail 
body  leaning  against  his  door-posts.  "What  is  your 

name?     I  hear  you  called  'Em.'  " 
11 


160  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

"I  am  called  Em,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly,  "by 
those  that  know  no  better,  but  my  name  is  'Grace 
Emily. '  Any  one  that  is  really  my  friend  calls  me 
'Grace  Emily.'  That's  what  Elsie  calls  me,  but  she 
is  the  only  one." 

"  'Grace  Emily' ;  why,  I'll  call  you  that,  from  this 
time  on,  and  then  you'll  forgive  me  for  making  all 
that  noise,  won't  you?" 

"I  had  already  forgiven  you,"  said  Em,  with  a 
stately  emphasis  not  before  employed  by  her,  and 
infinitely  laughter  provoking  it  was,  "but  now, 
since  you  name  me  aright,  you  are  thrice  forgiven." 

"Em!"  shrieked  a  loud,  musical  voice  from  the 
attic,  and,  without  further  parley  the  magnanimous 
heroine  disappeared  to  the  upper  regions. 


THE    PITY    OF    IT.  161 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  PITY   OF  IT. 

Sargent  was  immersed  by  day  in  his  round  of 
duties  and  studies  at  his  office,  but  in  the  gloomy 
house  on  Wabash  Avenue  he  began  to  feel  an 
intense  interest.  The  people  in  it  attracted  him 
from  the  first,  and  soon  his  keen,  alert  sympathies 
became  aroused  and  then  thoroughly  enlisted  upon 
the  side  of  the  weakest  combatant  in  a  struggle 
which,  at  last,  became  the  supreme  subject  of  his 
thoughts. 

He  soon  learned  that  Mrs.  Graves  had  but 
recently  returned  from  a  visit  to  England,  where 
she  had  been  to  settle  the  affairs  of  her  dead  sister, 
a  burlesque  singer,  Kitty  Romaine,  the  mother  of 
Elsie.  Later  on  he  was  to  know  that  at  the  time  of 
this  visit  the  yachting  nobleman  who  was  Elsie's 
father,  though  unacknowledged,  had  settled  upon 
the  girl,  under  the  control  and  management  of  Mrs. 
Graves,  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  for  the  education 
and  ample  support  of  his  unfortunate  child,  and  he 
was  to  learn  in  time,  too,  that  Mrs.  Graves  had  her 
own  ideas  as  to  how  this  money  should  be  expended, 
and  for  whose  benefit. 

That  Elsie  was  destined  for  the  stage,  Sargent 
knew  from  the  first.  He  noted  with  curious  and 
delighted  interst  all  the  new  life  around  him,  and 


162  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

in  a  few  weeks  had  become  entangled  in  its  meshes, 
but  in  his  own  honest  and  fearless  and  clean -going 
fashion. 

The  only  woman  lodger  in  the  house  was  Rosie 
Clyde,  a  passe*  beauty,  who  had  won  money  and 
praise  during  the  brief  summer  of  her  reign  on  the 
burlesque  and  variety  stage,  and  who  seemed  to 
have  some  sort  of  a  claim  on  Mrs.  Graves.  She  had 
been  a  white  terror  in  her  day,  but  was  now  harm- 
less enough.  Sargent  looked  with  the  astonishment 
of  youth  upon  her,  for  she  was  the  first  member  of 
the  theatrical  world  that  he  had  ever  seen  at  close 
range.  A  woman  with  fewer  claims  to  beauty  or 
style  he  had  never  seen,  and  yet  half  a  dozen  years 
before  she  had  turned  the  heads  of  the  gilded 
youth  of  New  York  and  of  London.  There  was, 
though,  a  good-natured,  happy-go-lucky  way  about 
the  overblown  stage  rose  which  was  mildly  captivat- 
ing to  the  lonely  youngster  in  a  strange  city,  and 
many  a  long  talk  he  had  with  her  in  Mrs.  Graves' 
economically  lighted,  stuffy  little  parlor,  with  Elsie 
sitting  listlessly  by,  content  but  entirely  without 
interest  in  the  lively  tales  of  accident  by  flood  and 
field,  and  adventures  rare  and  bizarre  with  which 
Miss  Clyde  regaled  her  auditors.  The  actress 
seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  careless  regard  for  Elsie, 
and  for  this  the  poor  girl  was  so  grateful  that  she 
rewarded  her  with  a  kind  of  adoration. 

In  pursuance  of  the  settled  plan  of  Mrs.  Graves, 
that  Elsie  should  go  upon  the  burlesque  stage,  the 
girl  was  taken  regularly  to  her  dancing  master,  and 
she  spent  hours  daily  practicing  her  voice  before 


THE    PITY   OP    IT.  163 

piano  and  mirror,  for  it  was  essential  that  she  should 
look  pretty  and  sing  in  time  with  her  accompaniment, 
whether  she  had  any  real  singing  voice  of 
attracting  quality  or  not. 

The  girl's  figure  was  the  embodiment  of  grace, 
and  her  face  was  "alone  her  fortune,"  as  Miss  Clyde 
enthusiastically  told  her  again  and  again.  Dressed 
in  shabby  black,  without  any  aid  from  the  filigree 
of  toilet,  she,  in  truth,  could  not  appear  anywhere 
without  giving  delight  to  all  who  saw  her.  It  was 
like  the  carrying  along  the  street  of  some  flower  to 
see  her  go  and  faces  lighted  as  she  walked.  But 
there  was  so  much  unconscious  goodness  and  gentle- 
ness in  her  that  no  one  ever  spoke  to  her  or  even 
looked  upon  her  too  boldly  in  the  strident  Western 
city,  even  when  she  was  in  company  with  Rosie 
Clyde,  brave  in  cast-off  stage  finery  skillfully  made 
over,  with  bleached  hair  and  a  complexion  not  her 
own.  Elsie  was  often  chaperoned  by  the  burlesque 
fairy,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  a  veritable 
dragon.  Both  she  and  Mrs.  Graves  well  knew  the 
pecuniary  value  of  modesty  and  virtue  in  a  young 
candidate  for  theatrical  honors.  Once  on  the  stage 
it  would  be  different,  but  now  the  slave  girl  was 
being  prepared  for  the  auction  block,  or  for  more 
such  sales  than  one. 

As  the  weeks  passed,  Sargent  found  from  his  talks 
with  Elsie,  when  the  older  women  were  not  by  her 
side,  that  Elsie  herself  had  no  relish  for  the  pro- 
gramme laid  out  for  her.  This  surprised  the  young 
man,  for,  to  him,  knowing  as  he  was  in  many  ways, 
there  was  a  certain  fascination  about  everything  con- 


164  THE   LAUNCHING   OP   A   MAN. 

nected  with  the  theater.  In  those  days  he  spent 
every  evening  when  he  was  not  at  work,  at  some  one 
of  the  play  houses,  but  always  before  the  curtain. 
He  had  sense  enough  to  cherish  his  illusions.  He 
never  dared  let  himself  go  to  the  stage  door.  He 
dreaded  to  see  Pauline  turn  into  a  commonplace, 
well-dressed  lady  getting  into  a  hack,  or  little  Eva 
eating  pink  and  white  candy,  or  Ruy  Bias  in  a  silk 
hat  and  trousers.  But  to  his  mind  there  was,  after 
all,  a  glow  around  the  names  of  theatrical  folk  and 
he  could  not  see  how  a  girl  of  such  striking  beauty 
as  that  of  Elsie  could,  though  he  had  clean  doubts, 
wish  for  any  career  except  that  which  would  give  to 
the  whole  world  what  it  worships,  in  its  most 
dazzling  form,  but  as  he  came  to  know  Elsie  he 
found  that  in  nature  she  was  timid  and  shrinking  to 
such  a  degree  that  the  rude  regard  of  strangers  was 
a  positive  agony  and  that  the  thought  of  stage  life 
was-  abhorrent  to  her.  When  realization  of  this  con- 
dition had  found  a  firm  seat  in  his  mind  he  could  not 
keep  from  speaking  of  it  to  Rosie  Clyde.  One  night 
in  June,  while  they  were  sitting  on  the  piazza.,  Elsie 
being  away  with  her  aunt  for  the  evening,  Sargent 
opened  the  subject. 

"She  isn't  fitted  for  the  life  of  the  stage  world, 
and  I  don't  believe  any  one  can  make  a  successful 
actress  out  of  her,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  can,"  said  Rosie  Clyde,  easily,  while 
she  ate  cherries  and  snapped  the  stones  at  Sargent. 
"She's  so  pretty  she'll  go,  anyway,  no  matter  what 
she  does. ' ' 

"But  she  doesn't  like  it,"  urged  Sargent,  "she's 


THE    PITY    OF    IT.  165 

too  retiring  and  not  fond  of  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know.  It's  all  right,  of  course,  for  those 
who  are  fitted  for  it,  but  Elsie  isn't,  and  never  can 
be." 

"Oh,  stuff  and  nonsense,  Mr.  Sargent!  What  is 
your  first  name,  anyway?"  and  without  waiting  for 
his  slow-coming  reply,  Rosie  Clyde  went  on: 
"Why,  she'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  she  gets  going. 
One  or  two  champagne  suppers  and  she'll  be  as  gay 
as  the  gayest.  A  little  Dutch  courage,  and  she'll 
be  as  jolly  and  successful  as  her  mother  was!  Why! 
Are  you  going?" 

"Good  night,"  said  Sargent  from  the  gate,  and 
its  latch  clicked  behind  him.  He  fairly  swayed  as 
he  walked  rapidly  along  the  broad  sidewalk,  and 
turned  down  a  street  leading  to  the  lake  shore,  and, 
under  his  breath,  he  was  cursing  with  such  fierce 
vigor  as  he  had  never  exerted  before.  It  was  some 
time  before  he  could  bring  himself  to  talk  with  Miss 
Clyde  again,  but  that  easy-going  person  soon  won 
him  over  to  being  civil  to  her,  by  her  perfect 
ignorance  of  his  antipathy  and  by  a  thousand  little 
sallies  of  good-natured  talk  to  him  and  any  one  else 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  same  house  with  her. 
Most  of  all,  he  was  reconciled  to  this  feminine 
monster  of  morals  by  the  evident  love  with  which 
she  was  regarded  by  poor  friendless  Elsie,  for  from 
her  aunt  the  child  knew  nothing  but  cold,  hard  dis- 
pleasure and  task-setting,  and  so  to  her  even  Elsie's 
gentle  nature  could  not  cling.  In  the  kindly- 
mannered  Rosie  Clyde  the  girl  found  something  to 
care  for,  and  upon  her,  who  was  inwardly  as  cold 


1 66  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

and  unfeeling  as  Mrs.  Graves  herself,  the  neglected 
creature  lavished  her  affections. 

So,  as  the  summer  passed,  his  surroundings  took 
hold  of  Sargent.  Interested  and  drawn  out  of  him- 
self by  Elsie  and  her  future,  he  studied  Mrs. 
Graves  with  profound  attention  and  found  her  a 
creature  new,  strange,  and,  finally,  awful  to  him. 
Her  voice  was  an  astonishingly  deep  contralto,  low 
and  well  controlled,  except  when  she  was  very 
angry,  when  it  was  harsh  and  threatening  enough 
to  frighten  any  one.  In  excitement  Mrs.  Graves 
was  a  marble-white,  black  draped,  raucous  voiced 
feminine  demon,  whose  whip  of  scorpions  was  her 
tongue.  The  awful  eloquence  of  the  ancient  bards 
and  orators  of  the  Irish  was  hers;  she  excelled  in 
vituperation  and  in  denunciation  of  such  bitterness 
as  seemed  to  blast  the  understanding  while  one 
listened  to  it.  Blighting  curses  flew  from  her  lips 
like  those  envenomed  arrows  of  the  Indians  of  the 
tropics,  which  leave  festerings  in  the  flesh  of  their 
victims,  and  so  cannot  be  robbed  of  their  prey  even 
when  withdrawn  from  their  bodies.  Poor  little 
Elsie  trembled  and  shrank  under  the  affliction  of  her 
aunt's  displeasure,  and  it  was  small  wonder.  There 
was  no  man  nor  woman  who  was  content  to  hear 
Mrs.  Graves'  recital  of  her  unveiled  thoughts, 
opinions  and  desires.  These  paroxysms  of  passion 
were  not  common  with  Mrs.  Graves,  and  even  with 
all  their  terrors,  the  mood  which  followed  them, 
lasting  for  weeks,  was  more  unbearable  to  those 
whose  misfortune  it  was  to  live  under  her  dominion. 
These  unhappy  mortals  she  treated  with  a  cold, 


THE    PITY    OF    IT.  167 

unbending  displeasure,  with  sharp  censoriousness 
thrown  in  for  seasoning,  no  matter  how  obsequiously 
and  carefully  the  poor  subjects  of  her  wrath  strove 
to  appease  her. 

Sargent  studied  and  looked  upon  the  gradual 
unfolding  of  this  malevolent  character  with  unmixed 
astonishment.  At  first  he  could  not  credit  his  own 
senses  nor  conclusions,  but,  finally,  he  became  con- 
vinced of  the  reality  of  the  vicious  nature  with  which 
he  had  come  in  contact,  and  from  it  his  soul  recoiled 
in  horror.  To  him  the  ideal  cf  womanhood  had 
been  formed  in  an  ideal  home  and  society,  from  the 
high  standards  which  are  constantly  held  up  before 
young  Americans,  and  he  had  been  used  to  attribut- 
ing everything  that  was  good  and  beautiful  to 
women  and  expecting  nothing  but  high  aspiration 
and  counsel,  or  harmless  merriment  and  spirited 
conversation  from  them. 

Mrs.  Graves  was  a  revelation  in  human  wicked- 
ness made  additionally  astonishing  by  the  fact  that 
she  was  a  woman.  At  first  he  had  not  been  able  to 
believe  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses.  He  thought 
there  must  be  some  extenuation,  some  unknown 
softener  of  what  seemed  so  hard  and  cruel.  He 
came  finally  to  see  that  the  human  heart  can  be  as 
relentless  as  the  unbending  laws  of  nature  herself, 
that  there  are  human  beings  with  whom  one  can 
come  in  contact  with  as  much  safety  as  one  can  put 
a  hand  in  the  fire. 


1 68  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  ROOM  OF  DEAD  VANITIES. 

One  evening  at  the  end  of  summer,  on  his  return 
from  his  office,  Rosie  Clyde  met  Sargent  at  the  street 
door.  ' '  I  was  lying  in  wait  for  you, ' '  she  said.  ' '  I 
have  something  to  show  you.  Prepare  to  be 
dazzled." 

By  Miss  Clyde's  freedom  of  speech  and  movement, 
Sargent  divined  that  Mrs.  Graves  was  out  of  the 
house,  as,  when  she  was  there,  no  one  spoke 
naturally;  and  he  was  right  in  his  conclusions. 
Mrs.  Graves  had  gone  to  consult  her  attorney, 
leaving  Miss  Clyde  to  a  task  which  pleased  her  very 
soul.  This  was  to  make  a  list  of  the  contents  of 
seven  huge  boxes  from  London,  containing  the 
wardrobe  and  belongings  of  poor  Kitty  Romaine. 

Mrs.  Graves  had  packed  the  boxes  before  she  left 
England,  after  her  sister's  death;  following  her, 
they  had  been  shipped  to  her  by  a  sailing  vessel,  so 
that  they  had  arrived  long  after  her.  They  had, 
after  some  delay,  been  unpacked,  and  now  all  the 
finery,  the  jewelry,  and  dainty  belongings  of  the 
belle  of  the  footlights  were  to  be  sold  for  the  utmost 
penny  that  they  would  bring.  Miss  Clyde  had 
herself  unpacked  the  boxes  in  a  large  room  just 
then  unoccupied  by  a  lodger,  and  so  available  for 
the  purpose;  the  variety  singers'  butterfly  posses- 


THE    ROOM    OF    DEAD    VANITIES.  169 

sions  were  arranged  to  the  very  best  advantage, 
for  the  benefit  of  those  who  should  come  to  buy. 

Sargent  looked  around  him  with  a  feeling  of 
mingled  dismay  and  admiring  curiosity.  He  was 
reassured  by  the  sight  of  Elsie  sitting  in  one  of  the 
windows,  looking  delightedly  at  the  gorgeous  array 
of  velvet,  satin  and  brocade  robes  spread  out  on 
tables  and  chairs.  A  pang  shot  through  his  heart 
as  he  noted  the  brightness  of  the  girl's  eyes,  and  the 
flush  on  her  face  as  she  cast  fairly  adoring  glances 
at  the  finery  around  her.  He  noted  the  longing 
eyes,  with  their  slumbering  covetousness  awaken- 
ing, yet  could  not  understand  their  language.  To 
him  they  were  perfect  in  beauty,  those  gray  Irish 
eyes,  shadowed  by  black  brows,  and  made  bewitch- 
ing by  long  dark  lashes,  but  something  in  their 
expression  now  frightened  him,  without  his  knowing 
why. 

"Just  see  there,"  Miss  Clyde  exclaimed,  going  up 
to  the  mantel  shelf  upon  which,  from  end  to  end, 
stretched  a  line  of  the  most  dainty  and  fanciful 
shoes,  slippers  and  sandals  in  the  world.  Spangled 
and  overlaid  with  gold  and  gems,  of  every  extrava- 
gant shape,  color  and  material,  the  fairy  footwear 
was  set  out  ready  for  inspection. 

"And  look,"  said  Elsie,  designating  by  a  glance  a 
table  upon  which  were  heaped  fans  of  every  size, 
rainbows  starred  by  jewels,  Sargent  thought,  as 
Elsie  took  them  up,  one  or  two  at  a  time,  and  waved 
them  around  her,  and  over  her  head,  as  she  danced 
slowly  and  rhythmically  around  the  table. 

Over  one  sofa  lay  a  cloak  fit  for  royalty,  splendid 


170  THE    LAUNCHING    OP   A   MAN. 

in  crimson  and  ermine,  and  over  another  trailed  a 
long  court  train  of  cloth  of  gold.  There  were  filmy 
gauze  skirts  in  bright  colored  heaps  upon  the  floor 
— flame-colored  and  blue  and  green,  yellow,  black 
and  snow-white,  and  upon  the  dressing  table  blazed 
jewels,  the  real  indistinguishable  from  the  false 
gems,  but  making  a  show  that  rivaled  any  jeweler's 
showcase  that  Sargent  had  ever  seen. 

There  were  endless  fripperies  of  linen,  gauze  and 
lace,  and  ribbons,  for  which  Sargent  knew  no  name. 
He  sat  down,  pleasantly  entertained,  while  the 
faded  burlesque  beauty  and  the  fresh,  budding 
maiden  displayed  the  gewgaws  and  draperies  of  the 
dead  singer. 

"Sophia  La  Belle  is  coming  to  dinner  to-night, 
with  her  manager,  Simon  Strauss,  and  you  may  be 
sure  Sophie  will  never  leave  without  some  of  these 
things,"  said  Miss  Clyde,  at  last,  when  Sargent 
began  to  tire  of  the  show. 

Elsie  came  and  sat  down  on  a  chair  near  Sargent, 
unmindful  of  the  rose-colored  silken  gown  hanging 
over  it. 

"I'm  to  be  all  dressed  up  to  show  off,  too,"  she 
said,  with  a  half  smile,  and  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"To  the  manager?"  asked  Sargent. 

"Yes,  and  if  they  like  me  they  may  take  me  with 
them  in  their  company,"  said  Elsie. 

The  town  billboards  and  fences  were  all  plastered 
over  with  glaring  advertisements  of  "Sophia  La 
Belle's  Paralyzing  Blondes,"  and  as  Sargent  heard 
this  announcement  he  felt  sick  at  heart,  and 
desperate. 


THE    ROOM    OF    DEAD    VANITIES.  171 

He  left  the  room  of  cast-off  splendors  without 
more  than  a  word  or  two,  and  sat  in  his  room  brood- 
ing, silent  and  savage,  until  dark.  When  the  street 
lamps  were  lighted  he  went  out  on  the  steps,  brush- 
ing against  an  oily-haired,  obese,  be-ringed  and 
highly  perfumed  personage,  with  small  ferret-like 
eyes,  clean  shaven  face,  and  a  large  hooked  nose. 
He  recognized  the  theatrical  manager  without 
trouble.  He  was  nauseating,  but  Sargent  was  glad 
he  had  escaped  the  "Star"  of  The  Blondes;  she  had 
evidently  preceded  Simon  Strauss,  as  there  had 
lingered  a  strong  smell  of  patchouly  all  the  length 
of  the  hallway,  and  a  high  voice  could  be  heard  in 
Mrs.  Graves'  parlor. 

Who  can  tell  the  disgust  with  which  Sargent 
thought  of  the  company  surrounding  the  beautiful 
girl  who  was  beginning  to  fill  all  his  thoughts,  that 
evening?  He  walked  through  the  streets  until  long 
after  midnight,  for  he  knew  the  house  would  not  be 
rid  of  its  visitors  until  after  the  return  of  the  whole 
party  from  the  theater  and  supper.  When  he 
ventured  to  go  there  toward  morning,  there  was 
nothing  to  remind  him  of  them  but  the  smell  of  sour 
beer  about  the  house. 

He  slept  uneasily.  There  came  before  his  eyes, 
in  his  dreaming,  a  red-crowned  head  and  scenes 
of  a  cleaner  life,  as  they  came  to  him  hourly 
throughout  the  day;  but  here  was  another  life  of  the 
present,  and  his  sympathies  and  emotions  were  all 
roused. 

That  one  who  had  been  so  earnestly  and  clearly  in 
love  should  so  soon  love  elsewhere  and  anew  seems 


172  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

strange,  but  human  nature  is  human  nature,  and 
this  was,  in  fact,  not  the  love  with  deepest  roots. 
There  is  no  suffering  so  acute  as  that  of  the  young, 
because  they  do  not  know  that  there  is  "balm  in 
Gilead."  To  them  darkness  shuts  down  on  the 
world  as  if  never  to  lift.  They  cannot  hope ;  their 
faith  is  too  gossamer-like  a  thing  to  stand  the 
storm.  It  is  only  when  one  has  reached  middle 
life  that  faith  and  hope  have  grown  robust  enough 
to  endure  the  world's  convulsions. 

The  cruel  early  blow  to  Sargent's  dearest  hopes 
had  found  a  helpless  and  bewildered  victim.  He 
suffered  silently  and  deeply.  Work  and  new  environ- 
ment brought  a  sort  of  benumbed  relief,  and  slowly 
the  outer  world  pressed  in  upon  the  morbid  con- 
sciousness. 

It  was  certain  to  befall  a  youngster  in  Sargent's 
case  that  the  pulse  of  life  should  seek  to  some  way 
sustain  itself  by  creating  new  interests,  and  that 
from  those  who  lived  near  him  some  should  be 
attracted  to  him. 

The  bruised  and  sore  spirit  inevitably  seeks  to 
adjust  itself  to  its  fate  as  surely  as  does  the  broken 
and  anguished  body.  It  is  human  to  crave  and  gain 
relief.  He  who  laughs  at  the  renewing  of  interest 
in  life  in  one  whose  affections  have  suffered,  may  as 
well  laugh  at  the  efforts  of  the  sufferer  from  bodily 
wounds  to  obtain  comfort.  The  disconsolate  young 
soul  looks  and  leans  toward  happiness  as  the 
parched  plant  yearns  for  rain.  Unconscious  both 
sufferers  may  be,  but  they  surely  seek  relief,  and 
God  has  so  made  the  world  that  to  most  of  his 


THE    ROOM    OF    DEAD   VANITIES.  173 

creatures  relief  comes,    when    their    extremity  is 
reached. 

To  be  able  to  take  an  interest  in  another  human 
being  than  himself,  to  think  perhaps  he  could  be  of 
use  and  help  somewhere  in  the  world,  was  to  bring 
a  thrill  of  renewed  life  to  Robert  Sargent,  and 
inevitably  these  experiences  and  thoughts  came  to 
him,  after  months  of  brooding  over  the  torn  fancies 
and  ideals  of  his  life.  Feeling  had  not  died  within 
him — he  was  alive  and  the  great  world  was  whirling 
around  him.  Gradually  it  came  about  that  he 
thought  less  bitterly  of  Barbara  Sloan  and  his 
wasted  love ;  by  degrees  he  began  to  live  again. 


174  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SHOWN  THE  DOOR. 

As  Sargent  turned  to  go  up  the  second  flight  of 
stairs  the  door  of  the  Room  of  Dead  Vanities  was 
softly  opened,  and  he  heard  within  Em's  hushing 
"Sh!"  He  quietly  walked  over  to  the  half-open 
portal.  Em's  hand  swiftly  drew  him  into  the  room, 
and  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed  a  blaze  of  light 
flooded  the  room.  On  a  table,  her  hand  at  the 
chandelier,  stood  a  radiant  creature;  she  was  not 
recognizable  at  first  as  Elsie,  but  it  was  she. 

Now  with  her  finger  on  her  lip  she  stood  like  a 
statue,  wide-eyed  and  half  smiling  at  Sargent's 
amazed  looks.  She  was  dressed  in  a  cloud  of  filmy, 
lace-like  black,  her  bare  neck,  shoulders  and  arms 
rising  out  of  the  silky,  shining  jet-colored  gown  like 
snow.  Jewels  blazed  in  her  ears  and  around  her 
throat  and  upon  her  arms,  a  golden  girdle  encircled 
her  waist,  and  upon  her  feet  were  golden  sandals 
glittering  like  gems. 

Suddenly,  before  Sargent  could  speak,  the 
bewildering  vision  moved.  Elsie  sprang  lightly  to 
the  floor  and  ran  up  to  him  as  he  stood  by  the  door 
with  Em,  too  surprised  to  speak. 

"I  sat  up  to  show  myself  to  you  in  my  finery," 
said  Elsie,  softly.  "I  wouldn't  take  off  so  much  as  a 
bracelet  until  you  had  seen  me!  And  am  I  not 
gay?' 


SHOWN    THE    DOOR.  175 

The  girl  drifted  like  a  leaf  before  a  breeze  over  in 
front  of  a  tall  mirror,  and  began  to  dance  before  it 
noiselessly  and  with  a  light  grace  which  made  her 
look  more  than  ever  like  some  creature  from  the 
land  of  sprites. 

Poor  Sargent!  It  was  all  over  with  him  now. 
From  indignant  pity  to  infatuation  is  a  short  step, 
and  he  had  taken  it  before  the  dancer  had  looked 
around  at  him  from  her  posing  before  the  mirror. 
It  was  not  long;  all  in  a  moment  she  turned  from 
her  own  bright  reflection  and  ran,  this  time  straight 
into  Sargent's  open  arms.  He  touched  her 
reverently  and  gently,  taking  both  of  her  hands  in 
his,  and  leading  her  to  a  seat.  There  was  the 
innocent  coquetry  of  a  child  of  three  years  in  the 
girl,  and  that  was  all.  She  looked  at  him  with  the 
pride  of  a  baby  who  wears  its  first  red  shoes. 

"Elsie,"  said  Sargent,  his  voice  trembling, 
"don't  go  with  the  theater  people!  I  love  you.  Let 
me  take  care  of  you.  Let  me  make  you  my  wife  and 
then  you  can  go  away  from  here  with  me  and  live 
with  me  always." 

"Hush!"  said  Elsie.  "Em  hears  you — Grace 
Emily,  I  mean." 

"Never  mind  Grace  Emily,  Elsie,  I  want  to  say  I 
love  you  before  the  whole  world.  Will  you  marry 
me?" 

The  girl  held  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  few 
moments,  then  she  looked  bravely  up. 

"I  have  never  hoped  that  you  would  love  me,  or 
imagined  it,"  she  said,  "but  I  have  wished  it  from 

the  moment  I  saw  you,  and  I  have  prayed  that  you 
12 


1 76  THE    LAUNCHING    OF  A  MAN. 

would,  and  now  I  am  happy!"  Then  she  began  to 
sob,  but  checked  herself  immediately. 

"Takeoff  those  jewels,  and  that  dancing- dress, " 
said  Sargent,  "and  remember,  dear,  forever.  I  am 
a  poor  boy,  and  you  will  be  the  wife  of  a  man  who 
is  struggling  for  himself  and  you  in  the  world.  You 
shall  have  all  that  my  love  and  work  can  give  you, 
— no  more — you  understand?" 

"I  understand,"  said  Elsie,  "and  I  will  love  you 
and  obey  you  always.  I  don't  want  anything  but  you ! ' ' 

Sargent  took  up  the  girl's  little  white  hand  and 
kissed  it.  She  trembled  and  held  up  her  lips  to 
his,  and  he  kissed  them ;  and  then  they  said  good 
night.  The  girls  softly  stole  away,  and,  after 
standing  a  minute  in  the  dark  room,  Sargent  went 
upstairs. 

Mrs.  Graves  was  never  visible  before  noon,  and  it 
was  the  evening  of  the  next  day  before  Sargent 
could  see  her.  Then,  as  she  sat  in  state  at  her 
table,  entered  to  her  Sargent  with  Elsie  by  his  side. 

The  young  man  began  at  once  the  business  of  the 
moment,  and  asked  in  the  most  matter  of  fact 
manner  for  the  hand  of  Elsie.  Then,  after  a 
moment  of  frozen  surprise,  Mrs.  Graves  gave  the 
intrepid  man  a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour.  She 
told  him  anew  her  plans  for  Elsie  and  declared  her 
unalterable  purpose  of  carrying  them  out. 

To  Sargent's  attempted  expostulations  she  made 
the  unanswerable  rejoinder  of  curtly  ordering  him 
out  of  the  house. 

"Go  at  once,"  she  said.  "I  give  you  half  an  hour 
to  pack  your  trunks  and  get  out." 


SHOWN    THE    DOOR.  177 

Then  Sargent  turned  upon  her.  He  poured  out 
in  an  irresistible  volley  all  the  anger  and  disgust 
which  tormented  his  soul.  He  advanced  as  she 
shrunk  from  him  until  he  stood  over  her  as  she 
cowered  against  the  wall,  and  he  rained  down 
bitterest  denunciation  upon  her  until  Elsie  crept  to 
him  and  plucked  his  sleeve  and  begged  him  to  desist. 

"Come  with  me,  Elsie,"  he  cried,  trying  to  take 
her  hand.  "Come  now;"  but  Elsie,  looking  at  him 
helplessly,  was  bodily  taken  in  hand,  and  half -pulled 
and  half-carried  away  by  her  aunt,  who  had  rallied 
as  soon  as  Sargent  turned  his  attention  to  Elsie,  and 
now  she  withdrew  with  the  young  girl  to  her  private 
room. 

Sargent  was  stunned.  He  looked  at  the  closed 
door  of  Mrs.  Graves'  sitting-room  and  rushed  to 
open  it,  but  found  it  locked.  He  shook  it,  and 
finally  hurled  himself  against  it  with  all  his  force, 
but  the  barrier  was  unyielding.  Suddenly  his  reason 
asserted  itself  and  he  stood  still.  He  was  acting  like 
one  demented,  and,  as  he  realized  it,  he  slowly 
turned  to  go. 

"Hist,"  came  a  sharp  sibilant  sound  as  he  walked 
along  the  second  floor  landing  on  his  way  to  his 
room  to  pack  up  his  belongings  ready  for  instant 
removal.  He  looked  all  about  him,  and,  as  he 
mounted  the  next  flight  of  stairs,  he  saw  leaning 
over  the  banisters  in  the  half  light  of  the  hall,  the 
figure  of  Em.  She  grasped  Sargent  by  the  coat 
sleeve  as  he  came  within  her  reach  and  hurried  him 
into  his  room,  shutting  the  door  softly  behind  her. 
Then,  in  a  loud  whisper,  she  said,  "Trust  her  not!" 


178  THE    LAUNCHING  OF   A  MAN. 

"Who?"  said  Sargent,  surprised  out  of  himself. 
"Not  Elsie?"  "No!  No!"  emphatically  whispered 
the  tragic  Em;  "Miss  Clyde!  Trust  her  not,  she  is 
an  enemy  and  will  basely  deceive  you!"  Here 
in  somewhat  stilted  phrase  was  confirmation  of 
Sargent's  own  premonition,  and  therefore  it  was 
strong. 

"But  who  am  I  to  trust?"  he  muttered,  half  to 
himself — 

"Trust  me!"  said  the  small  slavey,  laying  her 
thin,  bony  hand  on  her  hollow  chest,  ' '  I  love  Elsie, 
and  I  am  determined  that  you  shall  rescue  her  from 
this  palace  of  hate!" 

Sargent  lost  all  thought  of  amusement  over  the 
girl's  grandiloquence,  in  his  intense  anxiety,  and  his 
hopeless  hope  for  help  from  some  source.  He 
looked  at  the  pitiful  little  work-worn  figure,  with  its 
earnest,  beseeching  face,  and  it  came  upon  him  with 
a  feeling  of  self-pity  that  here  indeed  was  the  only 
being  in  the  world  to  be  depended  upon  to  keep 
him  in  communication  with  Elsie. 

"Trust  me,"  repeated  little  Em,  and  Sargent  did 
trust  her.  Hastily  writing  a  letter  of  promise  and 
comfort  to  Elsie,  he  gave  it  to  his  new-found  friend 
and  ally,  with  strict  commands  as  to  its  secret 
delivery.  The  girl  looked  ecstatically  at  the  billet. 
It  was  the  first  bona-fide  love  letter  her  eyes  had 
ever  beheld,  even  on  the  outside,  although  in  the 
pages  of  story  books,  complete  letter  writers  and 
"Dream-Books,"  they  were  her  favorite  study. 
"Remember  I  trust  you,  Grace  Emily,"  said 
Sargent.  She  did  not  reply,  but  stooped  down,  hid 


SHOWN   THE    DOOR.  179 

the  letter  in  one  of  her  shabby  shoes,  and  with  a 
look  of  farewell,  and  the  words,  "Be  of  good 
cheer!"  she  left  the  room. 

Within  ten  minutes  Sargent's  trunk,  locked  and 
strapped,  ready  for  transfer,  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  apartment  which  he  had  already  left  forever. 
He  saw  no  sign  of  life  on  the  stairs,  or  anywhere, 
as  he  went.  He  left  the  money  for  his  week's 
lodging  on  the  hat-rack  table  in  the  dismal  front 
hall,  and  went  out  into  the  street.  There  was  no 
face  at  any  window  or  door — no  signal  nor  mark  of 
interest  from  the  house  which  held  so  much  that 
was  dear  to  him  that  it  seemed  to  hold  all  his 
world. 

Elsie's  imploring,  loving  face  haunted  him.  He 
did  not  blame  her  for  not  coming  at  once  to  him. 
He  knew  well  the  shrinking,  dependent  nature 
which  could  not  avoid  yielding  passively  to  the 
strong  hand  which  had  drawn  her  away  from  him 
just  at  the  moment  of  decision,  before  the  real 
situation  had  become  clear  to  her,  but  he  could  not 
keep  from  raging  at  the  thought  of  the  deserted  girl, 
left  without  help  or  love.  But  even  momentary 
quickness  and  strength  of  will  on  her  part  might 
have  given  her  to  him  and  made  an  end  at  one 
stroke  of  all  her  troubles. 

Now  he  had  but  one  object  in  life,  to  get  Elsie 
out  of  her  prison  and  marry  her  forthwith,  and  then 
what?  Visions  of  his  mother's  home  and  of  the  sure 
refuge  his  young  wife  would  find  there  while  he 
was  seeking  his  fortune  in  the  West,  filled  his  mind 
satisfactorily  as  regarded  the  future.  All  he  had  to 


i8o  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

do  was  to  get  possession  of  Elsie  and  marry  her. 
The  present  held  the  main  problem,  he  thought. 
The  future,  of  course,  was  bright,  and  held  no 
uncertainty. 


THE  RELEASE    OF    ELSIE.  181 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   RELEASE  OF  ELSIE. 

Sargent  spent  the  night  at  a  hotel,  that  comfort- 
able refuge  of  the  homeless,  and,  after  getting  him- 
self settled  in  a  new  boarding  house  the  next  day 
— this  he  knew  must  be  a  temporary  home,  for  the 
surveying  outfit  he  was  engaged  for  was  to  go 
West  soon — he  went  out  at  evening  to  look  for  Billy 
Barnes.  He  needed  a  strong  friend  and  helper, 
and  Barnes,  who  was  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  the 
city,  was  just  the  man  his  heart  craved. 

During  the  past  few  weeks  Sargent's  daily  life 
had  been  one  of  severe  work,  often  extending  late 
into  the  night,  in  preparation  for  his  start  West  on 
the  railway  survey  in  October.  And  in  addition  to 
what  was  demanded  by  his  work  his  attention  had 
been  gradually  concentrating  upon  Elsie  and  her 
surroundings  in  the  forbidding  house  on  Wabash 
Avenue,  so  that,  without  knowing  it,  the  youngster 
had  neglected  and  temporarily  forgotten  the  few 
friends  he  had  in  the  town.  Barnes  greeted  him 
with  unshaken  cordiality,  however,  and  soon  the 
classmates  were  walking  at  a  great  pace  through  the 
lighted  streets. 

Barnes  laughed  before  Sargent  had  fairly  made  a 
beginning  to  his  story. 

"Another  girl!"  he  exclaimed.  "Has  she  red  hair 
this  time?" 


i82  THE    LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 

Sargent  stopped  short  on  the  sidewalk,  and  by  the 
flaring  gaslight  his  face  had  for  a  moment  an  angry 
look.  Then  he  walked  on  in  moody  silence.  He 
did  not  hear  what  Barnes  was  saying.  Before  his 
fancy,  stronger  than  reality,  rose  a  vivid,  riant  face 
crowned  by  glowing  hair.  A  scent  as  of  pine  trees 
was  in  the  air,  and  all  around  him  the  fields  of  grain 
and  clover  seemed  to  spread.  That  was  reality,  he 
thought,  as  he  strove  to  regain  hold  of  himself,  and 
this,  the  city  and  all  the  people  in  it,  but  a  morbid 
dream. 

Barnes  took  hold  of  his  arm  and  shook  it. 
"You're  not  offended,  old  man?" 

"No,  of  course  not,  Billy!  I  may  as  well  tell  you, 
though,  that  the  red-haired  girl  refused  me.  Let 
that  end  it.  Now,  as  I  was  telling  you " 

And  he  went  on  with  his  story.  Barnes  was  soon 
thoroughly  aroused,  and  he  entered  with  all  his 
heart  into  his  friend's  plans.  It  was  indeed  more 
than  could  be  expected,  and  as  he  said,  "too  good  to 
be  true, ' '  that  he  should  be  concerned  in  an  elope- 
ment, for  this  and  nothing  less  was  what  Sargent 
had  determined  upon.  It  was  the  only  thing  to  do, 
speaking  in  all  seriousness,  he  explained,  and  then 
he  set  forth  his  plans  in  detail. 

Elsie  went  twice  a  week  to  an  afternoon  dancing 
class,  in  one  of  the  theater  buildings  down  town. 
Sometimes  she  was  accompanied  by  Rosie  Clyde, 
sometimes  by  Em.  Sargent's  scheme  was,  with  the 
assistance  of  Em,  with  whom  it  was  easy  for  him  to 
communicate,  to  have  Elsie  slip  out  of  the  dancing 
room  some  day  and  meet  him  in  the  hallway,  and 


THE    RELEASE    OF    ELSIE.  183 

then,  the  rest  was  easy.  To  Barnes,  Sargent 
confided  all  the  arrangements  necessary  for  the  per- 
formance of  a  strictly  legal  marriage  ceremony 
within  a  few  minutes  of  the  time  when  Elsie  should 
be  safe  in  Sargent's  care,  at  the  doors  of  the  dancing 
master's  rooms. 

The  two  friends  discussed  every  detail  of  their 
enterprise.  Sargent  and  Elsie,  immediately  after 
the  marriage  ceremony,  were  to  be  hurried  into  a 
carriage,  Barnes  being  the  driver,  to  Barnes'  office, 
where  they  were  to  await  the  time  of  departure  of 
the  train  which  should  carry  the  young  pair  to 
Sargent's  Michigan  home.  All  that  remained  to  be 
done  now  was  to  get  word  to  Elsie,  so  that  on  the 
following  Thursday,  at  the  time  of  her  next  dancing 
class,  she  should  be  ready  for  her  wedding  and 
flight.  Sargent  and  Barnes  parted  late  that  night, 
having  arranged  it  so  that  each  could  find  the  other 
easily  or  communicate  with  him  at  any  time,  day  or 
night. 

When  Sargent  met  Em,  the  third  conspirator,  the 
next  evening,  that  romantic  damsel's  spirit  was 
swollen  with  such  pride  as  no  one  could  well  depict. 
Here  was  she,  the  despised  and  persecuted  Em, 
walking  along  the  avenue  upon  the  arm  of  a  tall, 
handsome  young  gentleman  who  bent  over  her 
solicitously  and  talked  in  lowest  tones.  She 
fervently  wished  that  some  acquaintance  might  pass 
by,  only  to  see  it,  even  in  the  uncertain  light  of  the 
September  evening,  with  only  a  street  lamp  now 
and  then  to  make  the  darkness  visible.  It  was  true 
that  the  low-toned  voice  discoursing  on  themes  of 


1 84  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

love  and  adventure  was  vibrating  with  emotions 
inspired  by  another  than  herself,  but  Em  did  not 
mind  that.  The  situation  was  full  of  romance,  and 
was  intoxicating.  She  was,  inwardly,  a  little  dis- 
appointed at  the  prosaic  meeting  planned  by 
Sargent;  it  all  seemed  a  little  tame,  to  her  fancy — 
the  dingy  place  down  town,  the  office  of  the  Justice 
of  the  Peace  and  the  railway  station,  and  all  in  broad 
daylight,  too.  Em  had  formed  visions  of  a  midnight 
escape,  with  a  rope  ladder,  fashioned,  who  knows? 
but  by  her  own  hands,  and  Sargent's  practical 
arrangements  were  so  different  from  her  dreams! 
She  said  nothing,  though,  but  concentrated  her 
attention,  very  faithfully,  upon  remembering  exactly 
every  direction,  and  every  message  she  was  to 
deliver  from  Sargent  to  Elsie. 

Just  at  parting,  near  the  house,  Em  said,  and 
somehow  it  sent  a  stab  to  Sargent's  fast  beating 
heart : 

"Don't  be  too  disappointed,  Mr.  Sargent,  if  we 
aren't  there,  Thursday.  Elsie  has  not  been  out  of 
her  room  or  able  to  sit  up  since  yesterday;  she  can't 
eat  or  sleep,  she  says,  but  Mrs.  Graves  says  she  is 
only 'playing  sick,'  and  she  won't  believe  there  is 
really  anything  wrong  with  Elsie's  health.  I  think 
myself  she'll  be  all  right  when  she  has  heard  from 
you." 

"But,  Em,"  said  Sargent,  "you  must  tell  me  to- 
morrow night  how  Elsie  is— or — be  sure  to  be  up  at 
five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  and  meet  me  at  the 
door.  I'll  be  there;  I  can't  ring  the  bell,  you  know, 
but  you  come  to  the  door  at  five,  Em !  Do. ' ' 


THE    RELEASE    OF    ELSIE.  185 

"Of  course  I  will,"  promised  Em,  and  then  she 
ran  down  to  the  basement  entrance  and  disappeared. 

So  little  Elsie  was  sick.  It  pressed  upon  him  like 
a  smothering  nightmare.  He  feared,  he  knew  not 
what.  Certainly  it  was  unreasonable,  "as  all  fear 
is, ' '  thought  the  young  man,  but  he  could  not  shake 
off  the  foreboding  which  oppressed  him. 

Before  sunrise  in  the  morning  Sargent  was  at  Mrs. 
Graves'  door,  and  promptly  at  five  o'clock  came  Em 
with  brush  and  hot  water,  ready  for  her  morning 
task  of  scrubbing  the  high  white  stone  doorsteps. 
She  set  down  the  heavy  pail  she  carried,  and  stood, 
pale  and  red-eyed  in  the  morning  light,  looking  at 
Sargent. 

"Been  up  all  night  with  Elsie.  She's  very  sick. 
I'm  scared  about  her,"  she  said  simply,  with  an 
appealing  look,  and  pitying  too,  at  the  great  fellow 
standing  there  helpless. 

"Em!"  he  said, "call  Mrs.  Graves,  and  tell  her  she 
must  have  a  doctor  for  Elsie.  Tell  her  I  shall  come 
at  noon,  and  if  she  has  not  called  a  doctor  before 
then,  I  shall  bring  one,  and  he  shall  see  Elsie,  too ! 
Run,  Em,  run!" 

At  noon  Sargent  rang  the  door  bell — he  had  an 
hour  from  his  office  at  noon — and  Rosie  Clyde 
opened  the  door.  She  would  not  admit  Sargent, 
but  she  spoke  kindly  to  him,  telling  him  that  Elsie 
was  ill,  but  not  seriously,  and  that  a  physician  had 
been  sent  for,  and  would  soon  be  there.  To 
Sargent's  imploring  look  she  only  said,  "Impos- 
sible. You  can't  see  her!"  Hearing  footsteps  on 
the  stairs  she  abruptly  closed  the  door,  leaving 


1 86  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

Sargent  standing  there  staring  at  the  heavily  carved 
black  walnut  barrier  which  had  just  shut  him  out. 

Sargent  had  never  dreamed  of  such  an  abyss  of 
uncertainty  and  misery  as  he  now  began  to  endure. 
Day  followed  day,  and  for  a  week  he  never  saw 
Em,  or  even  the  half-friendly  Rosie  Clyde.  A  sour- 
faced,  unkempt  old  Irish  woman  opened  the  door 
when  he  rang  Mrs.  Graves'  door  bell,  ordered 
him  from  the  steps,  and  slammed  the  door.  Night 
after  night  he  haunted  the  place,  and  only  once 
he  met  Mrs.  Graves.  She  was  coming  home  from 
some  evening  excursion,  and  to  Sargent's  appeal  for 
news  of  Elsie  she  curtly  warned  him  away,  and 
threatened  him  with  arrest  if  he  continued  to  haunt 
the  vicinity  of  her  house. 

The  next  night,  while  he  was  keeping  his  vigil 
near  the  house,  a  big  Irish  policeman  slowly 
approached  him,  and  laying  his  heavy  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  said,  "Is  this  Robert  Sargent?"  The 
poor  fellow  thought  the  threatened  arrest  had  come. 

"My  name  is  Robert  Sargent,"  he  said  very 
stiffly,  shaking  off  the  large  hand  from  his  shoulder. 

"Then  I  think  I  have  a  little  business  with  you," 
said  the  policeman;  "walk  along  wid  me,  will  yez?" 

Sargent  reluctantly  paced  along  by  the  side  of  the 
blue-coat  for  a  few  yards,  until  they  stopped  under 
a  street  lamp.  The  policeman  slowly  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  letter  and  held  it  up  between  his  finger 
and  thumb  so  that  Sargent  could  read  the  superscrip- 
tion upon  the  envelope.  It  was  his  own  name. 

"Take  it,  me  boy,"  said  the  unexpected 
messenger,  now  grinning  9  with  delight  over 


THE    RELEASE    OF    ELSIE.  187 

Sargent's  astonishment.  "She's  not  a  beauty,"  he 
continued,  "but  there's  none  keeps  her  doorstep 
whiter  on  Wabash  Avenue ! ' '  And,  with  a  playful 
thump  on  Sargent's  breast  from  his  big  fist,  the 
honest  fellow  went  lumbering  off  upon  his  beat. 

The  cramped  writing  on  the  envelope  betrayed 
the  hand  of  Em,  and  Sargent  tore  the  missive  open 
with  an  impatient  hand  after  he  had  run  a  few 
steps  to  thank  his  new  benefactor  and  returned  to 
the  lamp-post. 

Em's  short  letter,  ill-spelled  and  evidently  written 
with  much  labor,  showed  that  Elsie  was  desperately 
ill,  and  that  a  doctor  was  in  attendance  who  gave 
but  little  hope  for  her.  A  nervous  fever,  the 
medical  man  said,  had  prostrated  the  delicate  girl, 
and  she  had  scarcely  strength  enough  to  rally. 
"But,  of  course,"  wrote  Em,  "wile  thers  life  thers 
hope.  Elsie  calls  yure  name  all  the  time.  Wish 
you  could  see  her." 

Sargent  was  at  Mrs.  Graves'  door  early  next  day, 
and  never  left  it  until  he  had  waylaid  the  doctor 
when  he  left  the  house  after  his  morning  visit.  Dr. 
Hamill  was  a  kindly  man,  bluff,  humane  and 
sensible.  It  comforted  Sargent  to  talk  with  him, 
and,  as  for  the  doctor,  he,  of  course,  saw  at  once 
what  the  anxious  inquiry  by  the  haggard  young 
fellow  meant.  He  spoke  reassuringly,  and  Sargent 
blessed  him  for  the  first  gleam  of  assured  hope  that 
he  had  enjoyed  for  days. 

Why  prolong  the  story  of  what  followed?  the  story 
of  days  and  nights  of  lingering  anxiety,  indignation, 
savage  desperation,  hope  and  despair  for  this  young 


1 88  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

man?  The  end  came,  and  came  before  many  days 
had  dragged  their  slow  length  by.  One  morning — 
Sargent  had  been  sitting  at  the  door  all  night,  and 
had  seen  the  good  doctor  go  in  and  come  out,  look- 
ing thoughtful  and  grave,  after  midnight — though  he 
gave  a  word  of  hope.  Sargent  was  sitting  in  the 
morning  chill,  at  that  hour  of  dawn  when  the  world 
looks  either  its  best  or  worst,  when  Em  suddenly 
appeared  from  her  door  in  the  basement  under  the 
front  step,  and  with  a  cry,  and  a  look,  gave  him 
instant  news.  Elsie  was  dead! 

The  poor  lad  staggered  away  after  the  first  few 
words,  words  he  did  not  hear,  for  in  Em's  face  he 
had  seen  what  had  happened.  Afterwards  he 
learned  only  that  Elsie  had  died  with  his  name 
upon  her  lips.  That  was  all. 

And  so  the  strange,  pitiful  little  love  story  came  to 
an  end.  Barnes,  who  had  of  late  gotten  into  a  way 
of  seeking  out  Sargent  every  morning,  and,  after 
giving  him  his  breakfast,  taking  him  to  the 
surveyor's  office  and  setting  him  to  work,  where  he 
went  on  mechanically  until  night,  came  at  the  usual 
time,  and,  finding  Sargent  gone  from  his  usual  place 
of  vigil,  sought  and  found  him  at  his  lodgings. 

It  was  a  day  of  September  winds  and  rain  when 
the  two  friends  saw  the  open  grave  waiting  for  the 
fair  body  of  Elsie.  From  a  distance,  over  the 
wave-like  surface  of  the  place  of  graves,  the  two 
watched  the  simple  burial.  They  said  nothing,  but 
when  the  people  who  had  come  in  the  short  funeral 
train  went  away,  Barnes  went  away  with  them,  as  he 
knew  Sargent  desired. 


THE    RELEASE    OF    ELSIE.  189 

And  then  Sargent  stood  over  the  new-made 
grave,  and  as  he  noted  the  shabby  hearse  followed 
by  two  carriages  driving  away,  he  thought  of  that 
other  burial  in  London  a  few  months  ago,  when 
Elsie's  mother,  already  forgotten  before  she  had 
ceased  to  breathe,  had  been  hidden  in  her  obscure 
grave  in  an  alien  land.  But,  after  all,  he  mused, 
the  difference  between  the  two  was  as  wide  as  the 
ocean  and  the  lands  which  separated  their  humble 
graves.  One  had  been  the  plaything  of  fortune,  to 
be  dizzied  for  a  day  by  flattery,  and  then  thrown 
away  like  a  broken  doll  when  her  charms  faded  in 
the  blight  of  sickness.  The  other,  neglected  and 
bruised  in  spirit  all  her  short  life  through,  had  found 
in  death  a  refuge  from  what  she  instinctively 
loathed  and  repudiated. 

Even  then,  above  his  own  anguish  and  above  the 
storm  of  indignation  which  shook  him,  Sargent  was 
conscious  of  the  merciful  end,  which  had  come  to 
the  girl  he  had  pitied  and  loved  so  much.  It  made 
not  much  impression  in  the  stress  of  sharp,  newly 
inflicted  sorrow,  but  the  sense  of  it  was  with  him 
from  the  first,  and  gradually,  afterward,  it  grew  in 
him  until  he  could  estimate  with  some  sense  of 
proportion  what  had  befallen  the  girl  whose  life  he 
had  declared  should  be  one  with  his  own,  and  also 
see  something  of  his  own  part  in  the  simple  drama 
of  suffering  which  had  ended,  for  her  at  least. 

As  the  wind  blew  the  wet  leaves  from  the  thinning 
elm  trees  around  him,  and  a  light  rain  fell  upon  his 
bared  head,  Sargent  felt  that  he  must  rouse  himself 
as  from  feverish,  restless  dreams.  He  was  over- 


ipo  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

poweringly  homesick  standing  there  alone,  and  he 
found  himself  complaining  to  himself  and  lamenting 
silently  that  he  could  not  go  home  and  lay  his  head 
on  his  mother's  knee.  He  needed  the  restful  com- 
fort of  home  before  he  started  West  on  the  railroad 
survey  work,  he  thought,  but  could  not  have  it. 
Then  he  walked  slowly  away,  to  find  Barnes  waiting 
for  him  at  those  gates  where  so  many  heavy  hearts 
pass  in  and  out  each  day.  The  two  friends  went 
back  to  the  town  together  in  the  close  companion- 
ship of  silence. 


THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A    MAN.  191 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE  LAUNCHING  OF  A  MAN. 

To  men  of  a  certain  caliber  there  comes,  when 
sitting  in  a  rushing  railroad  train,  an  increased 
clearness  of  thought — maybe  it  conies  from  the  earth 
— but  the  fact  exists  that  when  he  is  dashed  along 
on  the  train  with  the  vibrations  beneath  him  and 
around  him,  the  man  of  a  type  seems  to  think  things 
and  see  things  more  clearly.  He  knows  better  what 
his  prospects  are;  he  knows  better  what  the  one 
woman  is ;  he  knows  better  what  he  ought  to  try  and 
do  in  the  world  to  make  his  prospects  better  and  the 
one  woman's  prospects  better,  and  to  help  the  other 
people  in  the  world  who  ought  to  be  helped.  Of 
course  this  effect  of  riding  upon  a  railroad  train 
comes  only  to  a  few  men.  Maybe  Mother  Earth 
gives  some  things  to  only  a  few  of  her  children. 
We  can't  tell  about  that. 

As  he  rode  on  the  train  from  Chicago  westward, 
Sargent  thought  over  what  had  passed — Barbara  and 
Elsie.  It  was  all  "mixed  up,"  he  thought.  Barbara 
seemed  brilliant,  fascinating  and  hard.  Yet  some- 
where about  her  there  seemed  the  ruby,  the  greatest 
and  richest  of  all  the  stones ;  possibly  the  association 
of  red  hair  had  something  to  do  with  that.  He  had 
thought  that  in  Elsie  could  be  found  the  loving, 
clinging,  dependent  creature  to  whom  he  would  be 

13 


192  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

all  in  all,  and  that  in  her  he  could  forget  the  eyes  of 
Barbara  questioning  from  so  far  away,  but  the 
glowing,  expressive  face  of  the  red-haired  girl  had 
been  in  all  his  dreams,  and  he  still  saw  it  on  the 
morning  when,  his  railway  journey  ended,  he  and 
his  peons  were  getting  things  together  and  doing 
the  packing. 

It  was  all  odd,  it  was  all  strange ;  it  was  a  leap 
from  one  thing  to  another ;  it  was  a  leap  from  some- 
thing feverish  and  heart-touching  in  a  great  city  to 
another  climate  and  other  conditions  and  other 
men  to  meet  with,  and  no  woman,  for  the  present 
at  least,  and  only  those  things  to  eat  and  drink 
which  are  provided  straitly,  but  which,  after  all, 
will  make  one  clearer  of  mind  mentally  and  morally ; 
all  which  is  exceedingly  good  for  a  man.  He  was 
clear  headed  now.  He  was  getting  gaunt,  which  is 
excellent  for  one.  He  was  handling  the  men 
about  him  and  thinking  of  the  two  women  who  had 
formed  part  of  his  life ;  the  smaller,  for  whom  he 
had  done  all  he  could,  and  the  other  who  really,  as 
he  even  in  his  half-boyishness  knew,  owned  him 
pretty  fairly.  There  was  much  to  come  yet  before 
Sargent  could  understand  how  great  the  woman  was 
and — then,  God  bless  him — there  is  good  air  up  the 
mountain  slopes  and  it  is  not  bad  for  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  if  he  have  occasion  to  knock  another  man 
down  in  the  early  morning  merely  because  the 
other  man  hasn't  belted  a  mule  properly,  and  when 
rebuked  has  drawn  a  knife.  He  knows  more  of 
the  relations  of  things.  He  sticks  to  his  friends 
more  faithfully  and  loves  a  woman  better. 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN.  193 

He  would  not,  when  he  was  fairly  at  the  end  of 
the  city  story,  standing  upon  the  edge  of  a  new 
experience  as  he  was,  acknowledge  it;  but,  deep 
in  his  heart,  lay  one  thing  out  of  all  the  years  had 
brought  him — the  thought  of  Barbara.  It  had  been 
so  all  the  time.  He  and  she  seemed  left,  the  two 
real  things  in  the  world.  And  he  hummed  under 
his  breath  the  old  song  of  "The  Cave  of  Silver." 

Over  him  rushed  the  thought  of  Elsie,  often  and 
often,  but  she  seemed  already  a  dream.  He  saw 
her  fragile,  graceful  figure,  poised  before  him  in 
her  gauzy  robe  of  black  for  the  dance,  or  he  saw 
her  face,  wistful,  sweet,  trusting  and  pathetic. 
He  knew,  even  now,  that  it  would  have  been  a 
question  whether  he  could  have  delivered  this 
beautiful  soul  from  its  surroundings,  and  made  the 
poor  child  into  a  happy  woman.  It  was  all  unreal 
— all  but  the  pain  of  it ;  that  was  at  least  real.  The 
rest  was  a  dream. 

The  life  of  a  man  upon  the  Southwestern  plains 
of  America  in  the  first  years  of  railway  prospecting 
and  building  across  them,  made  in  itself  a  rugged 
story.  Sargent  entered,  with  a  sensation  of  relief, 
upon  the  new  and  stimulating  experience  before 
him.  Hardships  he  laughed  at;  bodily  fatigue  he 
welcomed;  work  which  severely  taxed  mind  and 
body  he  rejoiced  in ;  and  the  wholesome  tonic  of  his 
ceaseless  labors  and  of  continuous  outdoor  existence 
in  the  wonderful  elixir  of  the  air  of  the  high  plains 
and  mountains,  in  a  few  months,  made  him  over. 
Every  trace  of  the  youthful  Squire  of  Dames  soon 
vanished,  and  a  hardy  young  man  on  the  alkaline 


194  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

soil  of  the  half  desert  stood  ready  to  front  the 
world. 

The  rough,  squalid  life  of  the  mushroom  towns 
which  sprang  up  along  the  road  as  it  grew, 
fascinated  Sargent  by  the  study  it  gave  him  of 
naked  human  nature,  human  nature  shown  without 
constraint  or  any  reserve.  Here  men  and  women 
showed  themselves  with  character  on  view  as 
plainly  as  are  revealed  the  bones  of  a  skeleton. 
Vice  glared  unrebuked  from  the  eyes  of  whites  and 
redskins.  Avarice  clutched  with  ready  hand  the 
wide-flung  money  of  the  careless  adventurers, 
laborers  and  engineers  who  led  the  onset  of  the 
iron  road.  Men  showed  their  virtues,  too,  as  well  as 
their  vices.  They  were  full  of  rude  kindness  and 
their  hands  were  ready  to  help  in  all  emergencies 
and  dangers.  The  workers  who  were  fortunate 
gave  freely  to  those  who  were  sick  or  poor,  and 
many  a  roysterer  proved  a  tender  nurse  by  the 
couch  of  blankets  on  the  floor  upon  which  tossed 
feverishly  a  suffering  comrade. 

There  were  few  women  in  these  towns  of  uncouth 
shelters  of  pine  boards  and  canvas  and  "dug-outs"  in 
the  hillsides,  and  such  women  as  were  there,  save  a 
few  rugged  wives  of  the  petty  contractors,  were  of 
the  sort  into  whose  personal  history  one  does  not  go 
at  length.  They  had,  as  a  rule,  the  virtues  and  the 
vices  of  the  men  except  that  they  did  not  gamble. 
It  is  odd,  this  thing  about  women.  It  is  only  an 
abnormity  among  them  who  gambles  for  money. 
They  gamble,  of  course  they  gamble,  just  as  men 
do,  but,  as  a  rule,  they  gamble  only  for  men.  This 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN.  195 

was  shown  quite  as  much  in  the  shanty  town  over  the 
crest  of  the  iron  snake  crawling  toward  the  Pacific, 
as  it  is  in  great  cities  where  men  are  richer  and 
women  plan  and  do  things  in  a  more  graceful  way. 

Was  it  the  proverbial  parsimony,  or  speaking 
more  kindly  or  more  flatteringly,  the  economy  of 
their  sex  which  kept  Moll  and  Jenny  from  the  poker 
table,  or  was  it  that  trait  which  is  strangely  despised 
in  a  man  while  it  is  praised  in  a  woman,  fear? 
Sargent  never  reached  a  conclusion  any  more  nearly 
than  to  feel  that  women  could  not  gamble  where 
men  are,  because,  in  the  end,  women  could  not  sit 
at  the  table  with  them.  Gambling  and  violence, 
rising  passions,  possible  personal  assaults  and  death 
go  together.  The  very  idea  of  a  woman  in  the 
neighborhood  would  be  grotesque.  And  so  the 
man,  growing  daily  sterner  of  face,  harder  of 
muscle,  and  harder,  too,  of  thought,  it  may  be, 
pushed  forward  with  his  engineering  associates, 
leaving  the  builded  road  behind  them,  and  far 
behind  them,  as  it  chanced;  for  there  was  new 
work  to  be  done  in  a  surveying  and  directing  way 
over  the  route  toward  the  Pacific,  which  must  be 
outlined  with  more  definiteness. 

The  little  group  of  men,  leaving  the  building 
road,  strove  along  over  plain  and  desert  and 
mountain  rises,  making  their  camping  places  where 
best  they  could,  never  resting  in  their  work  while  the 
sun  was  in  the  sky  and  energy  for  the  toil  remained, 
or  from  their  watching  under  sun  or  stars,  for 
they  were  in  the  land  of  the  Indian,  of  the  Apache, 
or  those  who  were  his  kindred.  They  were  but  a 


196  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

small  party  and  must  ever  be  upon  the  alert.  Quite 
truthful  was  the  captured  Indian  of  the  far  south- 
west, who  said,  "If  you  see  Apache  sign  in  these 
mountains,  look  out;  if  you  don't  see  sign,  look  out 
more!" 

Many  a  night  when  Sargent  was  standing  on 
watch  under  those  stars  which  in  a  clear  desert 
atmosphere  seem  like  great  lights  swung  down  from 
the  far  vault  of  heaven,  he  pondered  over  the  short 
drama  of  his  life  and  read  new  meaning  from  it, 
now  that  he  was  so  far  away  from  what  had  been. 
Only  objectively  comes  good  reasoning.  Droll 
fancies  came  to  him  in  the  midst  of  it  all.  He 
would  look  at  the  gloriously  lighted  sky  and  the 
glooming  waste,  and  it  would  seem  to  him  that  it 
must  have  been  some  other  boy  who  had  grown  up 
in  the  Saginaw  Valley  among  the  trees  he  could 
scarcely  believe  in,  as  only  memory  recalled  them 
in  this  treeless  waste.  Even  when,  in  the  moun- 
tains, trees  appeared,  in  all  their  worshipful  beauty, 
they  were  unlike  in  form  and  growth  to  the  savage 
trees  of  Sargent's  knowledge.  Upon  these  western 
mountain  slopes  they  grew  apart  without  under- 
growth, and  in  groups  which  gave  to  the  landscape 
an  effect  which  was  almost  park-like.  Indeed  the 
people  of  the  western  slope  have  named  their 
forests  parks.  But  it  was  not  of  landscape  or  sur- 
roundings that  Sargent  thought  alone  or  first. 
Never  grew  a  tree  since  the  world  began,  not  even 
the  greatest  of  the  great  conifers,  whose  height 
exceeded  that  of  the  woman  a  man  might  be  in  love 
with.  Sargent  thought  often  of  the  slight  and 


THE    LAUNCHING   OF    A    MAN.  197 

graceful  girl,  of  the  beautiful,  childish  face  of  Elsie ; 
and  over  her,  ever,  he  wondered  was  she  real ;  had 
she,  had  Mrs.  Graves,  had  Em,  and  all  the  rest  of 
that  street  and  that  city  by  the  lake  been  real? 
And  could  he  have  been  the  youth  who  shivered 
and  shuddered  upon  that  city  doorstep,  while 
the  poor  girl  was  dying  within?  But  ever, 
there  is  something  dominant.  It  may  not  be  the 
mountain  crest  which  we  can  see;  while  we 
never  see  the  living,  volcanic  fire  beneath.  Ever  in 
the  midst  of  all  his  thinking  existed  in  the  mind  of 
Sargent  overpowering  comprehension  of  the  glowing 
woman  of  the  North,  and  she,  he  knew,  was  real ; 
when  he  remembered  her,  he  felt  himself  recover- 
ing the  sense  of  continuity  of  existence.  While  the 
rest  of  his  life,  while  even  his  doting  mother  and 
proud  father  and  his  sisters,  friends  and  college 
chums,  seemed  shadowy  and  unreal  in  his  new, 
strange  existence,  Barbara  was  as  vigorous  and 
alive  to  his  consciousness  as  ever.  He  looked  at 
his  sinewy  brown  hands,  and  as  sure  as  he  was  of 
them  was  he  of  her  firm  white  ones. 

From  the  Mexican  border  Sargent  wrote  to  Bar- 
bara— he  had  been  silent  to  her  for  more  than  two 
years — and  after  that,  with  long  intervals  between, 
he  sent  letters  to  her  from  the  desert  places  of  the 
world  in  which  he  lived  and  worked.  They  were 
letters  full  of  his  pulsing  life  and  individuality,  and 
he  sent  them  more  as  a  necessary  relief  to  himself 
than  as  a  plea  of  any  kind  to  her.  They  showed  his 
continuous  love  of  her, — he  could  not  help  that, — 
but  they  asked  nothing  in  return.  He  began  to 


198  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

receive  letters  from  Barbara,  after  awhile;  they 
came  to  him  in  his  remote  working  places  long 
after  they  were  written,  and  were  the  treasures  of 
his  life.  They  were  not  love  letters,  but  they  were 
sufficient  for  love  to  feed  upon,  elusive,  piquant,  and 
altogether  charming.  They  were  dangerous,  these 
letters,  for  they  made  him  understand  more  fully 
the  woman  he  loved,  and  the  more  he  understood 
the  more  he  loved  her.  Of  all  the  winged  shafts  of 
love  that  with  a  pen  at  the  point  is  sharpest. 

With  comprehension  and  desire  would  come  a 
great  resolve.  He  must  have  that  girl !  The  Indian 
might  prowl  on  the  flanks  of  the  march,  and  he 
was  a  very  real  thing  to  be  dealt  with,  'and  had  a  fell 
hand  when  accidentally  triumphant,  but  he  had  no 
more  certainty  of  clutch  when  in  possession, 
thought  Sargent  grimly,  than  had  the  fair  Barbarian 
of  the  North  upon  a  certain  man.  So  went  on  the 
work  of  thrusting  a  railroad  outline  down  toward 
the  softest  of  the  oceans,  and  so  among  the 
engineers,  doing  that  great  work  and  himself 
developing  into  greatness  in  his  field,  went  Sargent 
until  the  months  grew  into  years,  and  he  became  as 
tawny  almost  as  the  Indians  he  sometimes  faced,  or 
the  peons  who  were  his  servants.  Wiser,  too,  and 
more  practical  in  all  things  he  grew,  even  as  to  his 
loving.  But  his  growing  practicality  did  not  obscure 
hi&  knowledge  of  a  great  truth.  He  began  to 
realize  that  true  chivalrous  love  had  been  like  a 
wall  around  him  during  all  the  dangerous  days  of  a 
youngster's  first  freedom  of  the  world. 

Then  there  came  periods  of  such  work  as  absorbed 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN.  199 

every  force,  mental  and  physical.  There  came 
times  of  stress  and  danger.  There  came  times  of 
privation,  ending  in  marches  of  incredible  hardship 
from  the  mountain  trails  to  the  supply  station  on  the 
plains,  and  more  than  once  Sargent  stood  the  sturdy 
one  of  a  camp  in  which  starvation  held  rule,  and 
from  which  the  whole  party  were  delivered  only 
by  determination,  endurance  and  pluck,  such  as 
perhaps  American  pioneers  and  pathfinders  almost 
alone  know. 

And  these  times  of  trial  and  suffering  showed 
Sargent  what  manner  of  creatures  men  are ;  showed 
him  the  good  and  bad  of  them.  He  learned  to 
tolerate  the  man  who  would  steal  the  blanket  from 
his  sleeping  comrade  on  freezing  nights  or  cun- 
ningly contrive  to  get  more  than  his  share  of  rations 
when  the  explorers  were  short  of  food,  and  he 
learned  to  know  the  man  who  gave  up  his  sheltering 
cover  or  let  the  cup  of  coffee  in  all  its  unutterable 
value  pass  him  by  for  a  weaker  or  ailing  member  of 
the  party. 

And  in  other  ways  the  young  man  learned  to 
know  his  fellow  men.  He  studied  with  amused 
interest  the  new  type,  to  him,  the  "Greasers"  who 
occupied  much  of  the  country.  Many  a  lazy  hour 
he  spent  sitting  in  the  shade  of  an  adobe  house 
haggling  over  a  calf  or  bullock  with  an  ancient 
Mexican,  whose  dark  face  was  wrinkled  until  it 
looked  like  a  map  of  a  city.  He  learned  to  read 
cupidity  and  avarice  in  the  strange  faces  of  these 
aliens  as  they  lounged  about  in  apparent  ease  and 
carelessness,  taking  hours  to  settle  upon  the  price 


200  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

of  a  sheep,  and  months  to  fix  their  terms  for  a  strip 
of  land ;  for  the  prospectors  bought  a  few  acres  from 
time  to  time,  as  they  saw  chance  of  future  values  in 
these  forgotten  places  of  the  world,  and  Sargent, 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  the  road  should 
come  into  being,  made  more  than  one  shrewd  guess 
and  expended  certain  small  sums  of  money  in 
evidence  of  his  belief  in  what  was  as  yet  to  be  only 
guessed  at. 

"It  is  my  way  of  gambling,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"It  is  in  the  air  out  here,  the  spirit  of  staking  to 
win  or  lose,  but  I  am  sure  that  it  is  not  lose  with 
me!"  and,  in  reality,  Sargent's  ventures  were 
founded  upon  somewhat  more  than  chance;  upon 
his  knowledge  of  nature  and  of  the  ways  by  which 
nature  determines  the  movements  and  lines  of  men. 
He  knew  where  the  railroad  must  go,  because  he 
knew  where  it  must  cross  the  bed  of  a  stream,  one 
of  those  channels  which,  dry  one  part  of  the  year, 
contain  full  currents  of  mud-colored  water  during 
certain  weeks  or  months;  or  he  knew  the  pass  it 
must  make  far  over  the  mountains,  or  the  canon  it 
must  cross  and  its  most  available  crossing  by  high 
network  of  trestle.  And  the  sites  of  certain  future 
railway  towns  were  purchased,  and  in  due  time 
their  titles  were  drawn  to  the  name  of  one  Robert 
Sargent,  late  of  Michigan,  but  now  of  the  Great 
Central  Plains  of  the  United  States  and  Mexico. 
Thus  the  foundation  of  the  young  adventurer's  for- 
tune was  laid. 

During  the  two  years  of  his  first  prospecting  and 
surveying  journey  into  and  around  in  the  strange 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN.  201 

lands  of  the  far  Southwest,  Sargent  made  two 
hurried  journeys  East  on  business  for  the  great  rail- 
way corporation  upon  one  of  whose  projected 
branches  he  was  at  work.  He  visited  Boston  and 
New  York,  and  remained  for  a  few  weeks  at  the 
National  Capital,  where  he  had  such  a  glimpse  of 
American  political  life  as  gave  him  much  food  for 
thought  when  he  returned  to  the  far-away  lands  of 
plain  and  mountain  where  his  immediate  work  lay. 
And  he  dreamed  of  days  of  power  in  the  time  to 
come,  feeling  the  strivings  within  him  to  take  his 
share  in  the  public  work  and  weal  which  character- 
izes the  American  citizen,  but  he  could  not  reach 
his  home. 

Later,  after  years  of  striving  and  stress  on  the 
Pacific  slope,  came  a  sort  of  period  to  Sargent's 
especial  branch  of  work,  and  he  joined  an  exploring 
expedition  which  would  take  him  to  the  Pacific 
ocean,  and  thus  he  saw  the  western  edge  of  the 
continent,  and  looked  out  into  the  mysterious  ever- 
flying  West.  Then  he  set  his  face  homeward.  It 
was  a  strange  sensation,  the  return  journey  over  the 
first  great  railway  line  from  the  salt  seas  to  the  fresh 
inland  waters  of  the  great  central  valley  of  America. 

Sargent  could  count  the  cost  of  such  a  road  as  he 
came  easily  along,  for  he  knew  what  those  long 
miles  over  deserts,  mountains  and  barren  plains  had 
meant  to  those  who,  farther  north  than  his  work 
had  been,  had  toiled  across  before  the  triumph  of 
the  meeting  of  the  locomotives,  and  the  driving  of 
the  golden  spike  which  celebrated  the  uniting  of 
the  two  roads,  could  be  effected. 


202  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

One  day,  he  recalled  as  he  journeyed  along  it,  in 
the  time  of  rain  and  flowers  and  such  grass  as  grows 
when  the  rain  falls  in  the  far  southwestern  arid 
districts,  how,  as  the  prospectors  had  wended  over 
the  level  plain,  they  had  come  to  a  yawning  gash  in 
the  earth,  and,  looking  down  a  thousand  feet,  saw  in 
the  deep  black  shadows  a  stream  flowing  at  the 
bottom  of  the  canon.  Sargent,  planning  with  the 
others  how  this  desperate  fissure  should  be  bridged, 
had  afterward  thought  how  a  certain  chasm  in  his 
life  must  be  crossed,  and  he  had  sung  over  to  him- 
self the  song  of  the  Cave  of  Silver,  not  in  despera- 
tion, as  he  had  sung  it  once  in  a  camp  of  starvation 
high  in  a  snowy  mountain  pass,  when  the  fate  of 
Brock  the  Bold  seemed  to  be  his  own,  but  in  a  mood 
of  contradiction  and  contest. 

And  now  the  man  coming  home  from  his  toil  to  a 
well-earned  rest,  felt  within  him  the  spell  of  the 
love  of  woman  more  deeply  than  ever,  and  with  it  a 
certain  fixed  and  manly  resolution. 


AT    THE    HALF-WAY    HOUSE.  203 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

AT  THE  HALF-WAY   HOUSE. 

"This  town  is  but  a  great  half-way  house  between 
the  mountains  and  the  seas,"  said  Mr.  William 
Barnes,  attorney-at-law,  as  he  sat  at  ease  and 
looked  across  the  table  at  his  vis-a-vis,  Mr.  Robert 
Sargent,  fresh  from  the  Far  West. 

"Just  sit  here,  and  the  world  passes  by,"  con- 
tinued the  speaker.  "Everybody  seems  to  be 
chasse'ing  east  and  west,  north  and  south.  We 
catch  'em  all." 

Sargent  had  reached  Chicago  that  morning  and 
had  found  Barnes  at  once.  They  were  not  effusive 
when  they  met — that's  the  way  with  the  American 
— but  they  were  glad.  The  junior  partner,  and  the 
hardest  working  one  of  a  flourishing  legal  firm, 
spoke  briefly  to  his  associates,  shut  the  door  of  his 
office  with  a  bang  and  lugged  his  friend  out  into  the 
street.  "Have  you  eaten  yet?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Sargent,  "and  I'm  hungry." 

Barnes  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder  and  dragged 
him  into  a  glittering  place.  "I  don't  care  what  I 
eat  to-day,"  he  said,  "but  let  them  do  their  worst." 

"But  I  care!"  announced  Sargent.  "What  to  eat 
is  a  matter  of  importance  to  a  fellow  who  has  eaten 
from  the  tables  of  the  wilderness  for  many  weary 
moons — and  stms  too.  Many  a  bill  of  fare  have  I 


204  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

conjured  up  as  I  fasted  out  there  on  the  plains  and 
now  I  mean  to  see  what  reality  there  is  to  one  of 
them;"  and  he  gave  an  order  to  the  waiter  which 
startled  that  staid  functionary  while  it  excited  in 
the  breast  of  his  friend  emotions  of  mingled  envy 
and  alarm. 

Sargent  was  lean  and  brown,  but  the  very  per- 
sonification of  healthy,  glowing  manhood.  His 
powerful  frame  was  yet  clothed  in  the  easy  dress  of 
his  active  outdoor  life,  and  so,  unmarred  by  the 
work  of  fashionable  tailordom,  was  as  graceful  in 
every  pose  and  movement  as  he  was  strong  and 
manly.  His  eyes  shone  with  joy  and  love  of  life, 
and  his  face  revealed  the  presence  of  a  spirit, 
strong,  studying,  yet  playful,  rejoicing  in  health  of 
body  as  well  as  mind. 

"He's a  man,"  thought  Barnes,  "to  be  proud  of." 

"It  is  a  great  moment,"  exclaimed  Sargent, 
interrupting  Barnes'  inward  comments.  "It  is  a 
great,  a  glorious  moment  when  we  sit  down  to  a 
square  meal !  Poets  may  rave  over  the  joys  of  the 
muse,  but  give  me  the  pure,  unalloyed  and  unim- 
peachable happiness  of  a  well-cooked  meal !  Homer 
may  twang  his  lyre  and  Dante  sing  his  lay,  and  all 
the  other  fellows  do  all  sorts  of  things,  unenvied 
each  by  me."  And,  with  a  flourish,  he  lifted  the 
cover  of  the  dish  before  him. 

"Tell  me  first  about  yourself,  Barnes,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  began  his  soup.  "You  look  as  content 
as  a  friar  of  the  middle  ages,  so  rosy  about  the  gills, 
so  white  of  hands  and  generally  well-fed  and  well- 
kept.  'Property!  property!  property!"  I'll  bet 


AT    THE    HALF-WAY    HOUSE.  205 

that's  what  your  horse's  feet  beat  about,  to  the  con- 
fusion of  Tennyson's  farmer!" 

"It  isn't  'property,'  Sargent,  that  makes  me  look 
so  prosperous,"  expostulated  Barnes;  "lam  doing 
fairly  well,  no  more,  but  I'm  very  happy — "  and  the 
honest  fellow  looked  a  bit  confused. 

"Billy  Barnes,  you're  married!"  exclaimed 
Sargent. 

"There's  no  'denygin'  '  of  it,"  the  Billy  of  ancient 
days  confessed ;  and  then  Sargent  had  an  excuse  for 
ordering  a  bottle  of  wine,  for,  so  far,  the  two  were 
following  the  almost  universal  American  fashion, 
eating  without  wine  or  beer. 

"We  must  have  wine  in  which  to  drink  a  health," 
said  the  returned  chum.  '"What  shall  it  be? — Ye 
gods!  Whitefish;  broiled  whitefish  on  the  shores  of 
Lake  Michigan!  Have  I  lived  to  see  this  day! 
Billy,  look  at  that  wine  card  and  see  what  will  go 
best  with  whitefish  in  honor  of  Mrs.  William  Barnes ; 
God  bless  her!" 

The  wine  was  ordered,  and  the  toast  drank,  and 
Billy  told  his  story — a  short,  honest  story,  and  made 
Sargent  promise  to  go  home  with  him  to  dinner  that 
night,  and  remain  at  his  house  during  his  short  stay 
in  Chicago. 

Then  the  two  talked  as  men  great  enough  to 
remain  boys  will  talk,  and  Sargent  heard  of  many 
of  the  college  friends  he  had  lost  all  knowledge  of 
in  the  years  of  his  distant  work.  "The  worst  priva- 
tion of  all,"  he  told  Barnes,  "was  the  want  of 
letters.  I  have  been  months  without  a  word  from 
home,  or  from  anywhere  else.  It  made  one  feel 


206  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

as  if  the  world  had  dropped  away  from  under  his 
feet." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  glad  you're  out  of  the  wilderness!" 
said  Barnes.  "This  is  a  red  letter  day,  to  be 
marked  with  a  white  stone.  How  are  things  at 
home?  Have  you  heard  yet?" 

"Oh,  yes,  vaguely,  at  San  Francisco,  for  I  came 
around  that  way,  and  later  at  Kansas  City,  but,  tell 
me  about  the  old  boys,  about  Lathrop,  Mayo  and 
Snow,  and  all  of  them. ' ' 

"There's  nothing  but  good  to  tell  of  the  whole 
lot,"  said  Barnes,  enthusiastically.  "They've  good 
stuff  in  them,  as  you  know;  they  showed  that  long 
ago;  and  it  stayed  right  with  them,  as  good  stuff 
does  when  it's  in  the  original  package." 

Then  began  the  comforting  reminiscences.  Per- 
haps men  laugh  too  much  at  women  who  do 
gossiping.  It  may  be  that  the  fact  of  gossiping  is 
sometimes  but  a  manifestation  of  interest  in  others' 
welfare,  and  that  if  there  be  venom  anywhere  it 
comes  from  the  individuality.  Of  course,  men  do  not 
sit  and  talk  of  other  human  beings  for  long  hours  as 
women  do,  but  men  have  bread-winning  to  do  and  so 
the  time  is  taken  up.  But  for  real  comfort  give  to 
me  a  good  reminiscent  talk  between  two  strong  men. 

And  then  began  the  stories  and  the  news,  how 
this  one  was  a  rising  lawyer  in  his  native  state,  and 
that  one  a  noted  professor  doing  good  work  in  a 
Western  college,  while  another  Sargent  himself 
had  news  of,  having  met  him  on  the  Pacific  coast, 
and  so  the  confab  ran  on  unendingly  and  was 
broken  off  in  the  middle,  but  to  be  resumed  that 


AT   THE    HALF-WAY    HOUSE.  207 

night  after  dinner  in  Barnes'  home  after  the  young 
wife  had,  with  wisdom  beyond  her  years  and 
experience,  left  the  two  chums  alone  over  the  last 
fire  which  was  lighted  in  the  library  grate  that 
summer.  Barnes  would  have  a  fire,  though  the 
windows  all  stood  wide  open,  and  the  glow  and 
blaze  was  not  uncomfortable  that  cool  June  night, 
and  morning,  for  it  was  morning  when  the  two  men, 
having  smoked  the  last  pipe,  said  good  night  at  the 
door  of  Sargent's  sleeping  room. 

"Give  him  strong  coffee,  Lucy,  and  with  plenty 
of  cream  and  sugar,"  said  Barnes  to  his  wife  at 
breakfast,  looking  approvingly  at  Sargent.  "If  you 
should  ask  him  which  dish  he  would  take  at  dinner, 
digestible  or  indigestible,  he  would  probably  choose 
indigestible,  to  such  an  extravagance  have  his 
spirits  risen!" 

"Of  course,"  said  Sargent,  "I  would  choose  the 
indigestible  anything,  knowing  it  would  be  the  best. 
Everything  particularly  delectable  is  dangerous,  if 
not  wrong. ' ' 

Sargent  walked  down  town  with  Barnes  that 
morning,  and  as  the  two  men,  leaving  the  lake 
shore  residence  region,  came  southerly  along 
Michigan  Avenue  and  crossed  a  street,  Sargent 
looked  toward  Wabash  Avenue  and  said : 

"Have  you  paid  any  attention  to  Mrs.  Graves,  or 
heard  of  her  since  I  went  away?" 

"Yes,"  said  Barnes,  "I  have  heard  a  little  about 
her.  She  has  evidently  grasped  permanently  and 
utilized  for  herself  the  fund  provided  for  Elsie  by 
Brockhurst.  I  doubt  if  the  father  knows  that  his 

14 


208  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

child  is  dead.  He  left  her  entirely  in  Mrs.  Graves' 
hands,  it  appears,  being  convinced  that  she  was 
devoted  to  her  sister's  child  and  to  her  happiness, 
and  now  the  miserly  instincts  which  were  well  at 
the  fore  when  you  knew  her  have  completely 
absorbed  her.  She  still  lives  in  her  house  over  there, 
and  is  known  as  one  of  the  hardest,  coldest,  most 
rapacious  of  mortals,  to  the  few  who  know  her  at  all. ' ' 

"Poor  Em!"  muttered  Sargent,  "I  wonder  what 
has  become  of  her!" 

"Em!     She  was  the  little  slavey,  wasn't  she?" 

"She  was,  poor  girl!"  answered  Sargent,  then 
suddenly  seized  by  impulse  he  stopped,  and  turned 
back.  "I  am  going  over  there,"  he  said,  and 
Barnes  went  with  him 

The  house  looked  just  as  it  did  in  the  old  days, 
grim,  closed  up,  forbidding,  yet  well  cared  for. 
The  neighborhood  was  now  fast  changing,  having 
fallen  from  its  first  estate  as  a  fashionable  residence 
quarter  some  time  ago,  and  the  prim  house  had  some 
undesirable  surroundings. 

They  asked  the  slipshod  servant  who  opened  the 
door  for  them  for  Mrs.  Graves,  and  were  left  stand- 
ing on  the  well  remembered  black  and  white  marble 
floor  of  the  hall  until  the  mistress  of  the  house  came. 
She  recognized  Sargent  at  the  first  glance,  but  chose 
to  conceal  her  recognition;  with  a  slight  bow  she 
stood  looking  at  the  two  men,  and,  as  neither  of 
them  spoke,  she,  in  her  soft  "company  voice,"  asked 
what  they  wished  to  see  her  about. 

"I  came  to  see  Miss  Grace  Emily  Ferguson,  Mrs. 
Graves,"  said  Sargent.  "Is  she  still  here?" 


AT   THE    HALF-WAY    HOUSE.  209 

"You  mean  my  kitchen  maid,  Em,  I  suppose?" 
Mrs.  Graves  asked. 

"Yes,"  Sargent  replied.  "Your  servant,  Em. 
Please  call  her. ' ' 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  small  parlor,  and  held 
it  open  for  Mrs.  Graves  and  Barnes,  then  followed 
the  two  into  the  room,  and  they  all  sat  down. 

"Kindly  ring  the  bell,"  said  Mrs.  Graves,  looking 
sourly  at  Sargent.  He  pressed  down  the  indicated 
button  on  the  wall  near  him,  and  when  the  servant 
answered,  Mrs.  Graves  commanded  her  to  send  Em 
up  at  once,  and  then  sat  rigidly  in  her  chair  while 
Sargent  looked  at  her  curiously. 

She  was  still  an  attractive  looking  woman,  at  first 
glance,  still  clad  in  that  widow's  uniform  which 
blots  every  city  landscape,  but  her  face  showed 
plainly  the  marks  of  her  consuming  passion,  avarice, 
the  ugly  thing  which  had  set  the  seal  on  the  fate  of 
the  shrinking,  quiet-souled  Elsie.  Sargent  had 
studied  the  world  since  he  had  last  looked  upon 
that  hard  face,  and  now  he  understood  only 
too  well  what  had  once  baffled  and  so  puzzled 
him. 

The  door  opened  and  Em  appeared.  Thin,  round 
shouldered,  *  with  great  eyes  staring  out  of  her 
homely,  honest  face,  she  stood  looking  at  the  visitor 
who  had  summoned  her,  not  even  noticing  or  com- 
prehending the  sharp  remark  addressed  to  her  by 
Mrs.  Graves.  Sargent  set  a  chair  near  the  window 
for  Em,  and,  standing  between  her  and  Mrs. 
Graves,  began  talking  quietly  to  the  poor  girl,  while 
the  tears  rained  down  her  cheeks. 


210  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

Now  Billy  Barnes  rose  to  the  full  height  of  his 
mental  powers. 

Moving  his  chair  close  to  that  of  Mrs.  Graves,  Mr. 
Barnes,  attorney,  began  to  discuss  the  weather,  but 
soon  passed  from  that  topic  to  one  which  plainly 
arrested  the  entire  attention  of  his  listener.  He 
spoke  of  the  house  in  which  they  sat,  and  asked  con- 
fidingly if  its  owner  had  ever  thought  of  selling  it? 
Had  she  thought  of  it?  She  would  never  have  said 
so,  but  in  reality  to  sell  her  house  at  a  good  price 
was  now  her  one  immediate  object  in  life,  dreamed 
of  by  night,  planned  by  day;  and  well  the  astute 
Barnes  divined  all  this.  Values  were  falling  all 
around  her,  and  it  was  little  short  of  agonizing  to 
Mrs.  Graves  to  see,  as  she  had  to  see,  that  her 
property  was  worth  less  at  this  moment  than  when 
she  bought  it. 

Soon  Barnes  had  the  ungracious  hostess  deep  in  a 
discussion  of  possible  and  impossible  sales  of  the 
particular  piece  of  real  estate  in  which  the  woman's 
soul  was  wrapped  up,  and  Sargent  continued  his 
interview  with  Em  unmolested.  At  the  end  of  a 
few  minutes  he  spoke:  "Barnes,  give  me  your 
business  card, ' '  and  when  Barnes  handed  it  to  him 
he  gave  it  to  Em,  saying,  "Two  o'clock,  remember. " 

He  had  made  Em  promise  to  be  at  Barnes'  law 
office  at  three  o'clock  that  afternoon. 

"Ugh!"  shivered  Barnes  as  they  left  the  close- 
shut  house  behind  them.  ' '  That  woman  is  uncanny ! 
There's  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  though,  but 
the  root  of  all  evil,  love  of  money!  She's  got  it 
bad,  though!" 


AT   THE    HALF-WAY    HOUSE.  211 

Before  Sargent  left  the  city  he  had  found  Em  a 
home  and  a  kind  protecting  friend  in  the  house  of 
Billy  Barnes,  for  he  easily  interested  Barnes'  young 
wife  in  the  poor,  friendless  creature  who  had  been 
taken  when  she  was  a  little  child,  an  orphan,  by 
Mrs.  Graves,  and  made  into  a  joyless  toil-worn 
dependent,  as  much  a  slave  as  was  ever  any  black- 
skinned  human  being  in  the  time  of  slaves. 

' '  She  has  such  a  square-toed  little  face, ' '  said  Billy 
Barnes,  speaking  of  her  to  his  wife,  "and  she  is 
alone  and  without  happiness  in  the  world ! ' ' 

"We'll  make  her  happier!"  declared  the  whole- 
some, joyous  woman  who  shared  Barnes'  life  and 
made  it  bright  for  him,  and  Sargent's  heart  felt 
warm  and  light  whenever  he  thought  of  the  relation 
which  was  soon  established  between  two  women  of 
such  differing  characters  and  fortunes  as  Lucy 
Barnes  and  Em.  They  had  one  point  of  resem- 
blance. A  great  good  heart  beat  in  the  bosom  of 
each,  and  as  the  years  went  by,  Em  became  the 
confidential,  petted  and  deferred-to  counselor  in  all 
domestic  affairs  in  the  Barnes  home,  as  well  as  the 
faithful,  tireless  helper,  to  be  trusted  in  every 
strait. 

Sargent's  stay  in  the  "Half-way  House"  was  brief. 
In  a  few  days,  having  attended  to  affairs  of 
business  of  his  own  and  for  the  great  railroad  com- 
pany, and  after  certain  soul-stirring  meetings  with 
old  college  friends  contrived  by  his  host,  he  took  his 
place  in  a  railway  train.  The  Wolverine  was 
"headed  for  home." 


212  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  HOME  COMING. 

When  the  youth  who  has  gone  out  into  the  world 
and  changed  and  become  a  man  of  forcef ulness  and 
reserve,  he  is  not  unlikely,  as  he  nears  his  home 
after  the  long  absence,  to  become  a  boy  again,  with 
all  boyish  fancies  as  to  what  he  will  see  and  what 
may  happen.  It  was  so  with  Sargent,  and  there 
came,  as  there  has  come  to  so  many  others,  a  half- 
delighted  shock  at  the  changes  he  found  in  his  own 
family,  and  in  all  surrounding  nature. 

The  father  and  mother  were  changed  least  of  all, 
and  Sargent  found  them  still  in  the  old  house,  a 
house  overrun  by  his  sisters  and  their  children,  and 
he  found  himself  called  "uncle."  To  be  called 
"uncle"  for  the  first  time  gives  a  man  a  queer 
sensation,  as  it  doubtless  does  a  woman  to  be  called 
"aunt,"  because,  when  those  titles  are  applied 
there  attaches  a  certain  suggestion  of  family  dignity 
and,  sometimes,  the  less  desirable  one  of  increasing 
age. 

The  old  home  was  still  controlled  by  the  potent 
father  and  the  dear  mother,  that  is,  it  was  theirs 
nominally,  but,  practically,  it  belonged  to  the 
grandchildren,  who,  Sargent  soon  declared,  were 
all  of  them  being  spoiled.  But,  though  changes 
had  come,  he  found  no  change  toward  him,  and  his 


THE    HOME    COMING.  213 

loving  reception  was  all  that  he  had  dreamed  of  in 
the  far  Southwestern  deserts.  His  father  grasped 
his  hands  in  the  same  old  way,  and  the  two 
men,  the  younger  affectionate  and  the  elder  proud, 
were  glad  to  meet  each  other.  As  for  the  mother, 
well,  she  came  out  as  he  ascended  the  steps  to  the 
old  doorway  and  she  came  with  a  certain  beaming 
dignity,  but,  as  she  looked  into  the  eyes  of  this 
great  brown  man  who  was  born  of  her,  and  saw  in 
those  eyes  the  light  which  only  the  eyes  of  a  great 
lover-son  can  give  to  the  eyes  of  a  mother,  why, 
then  she  burst  out  crying  and  he  leaped  upward  to 
her  and  enclosed  her  in  his  arms  of  something  very 
much  like  steel,  and  there  wasn't  any  dignity  or  any- 
thing else  save  the  mother-love  to  speak  of.  As  for 
the  girls — brothers  always  call  their  sisters  "girls" — 
they  crowded  around  and  laughed  or  cried,  and 
Sargent  was  introduced  to  his  nephews  and  nieces. 
Even  Bessie,  Sargent's  sister-sweetheart,  had 
married,  and  he  was  glad  that  it  was  to  the  one 
man  in  town  whom  he  liked  best.  And  the  baby, 
who  could  already  walk  and  talk  too,  though  in  a 
most  mumbling  and  ^incoherent  manner,  was  there 
to  meet  him. 

Sargent  declared  that  the  child  was  too  bow- 
legged  and  that  its  nose  was  wrong,  but  it  so 
chanced,  a  few  days  later,  that,  when  that  wobbling 
young  person  was  not  brought  over  by  Bessie  to  be 
around  the  house  with  him,  Sargent  announced  that 
he  was  an  injured  being  and  neglected  by  those  of 
his  own  blood.  It  is  doubtful  if  there  ever  lived  a 
man  worthy  the  name  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word 


214  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

who  could  keep  himself  from  falling  in  love  with  a 
baby-thing. 

As  to  his  mother,  the  man  who  had  lain  under 
strange  skies  and  far  from  hiimanity  of  his  kind, 
wondered  at  his  own  good  fortune  in  finding  face  to 
face  with  him  again  and  where  he  could  put  his 
hand  upon  her  shoulder  or  pat  her  cheeks,  the  elder 
being  who  had  given  birth  to  him  and  to  whom  he 
was  now  almost  as  a  child  again.  There  came  to 
him  in  those  days  an  overwhelming  understanding 
of  what  the  world  is,  of  what  woman  and  man-child 
are,  and  of  what  the  child  grown  should  ever  do  for 
the  one  who  nursed  him.  He  took  his  mother  upon 
trips  with  him,  just  little  pleasure  trips,  as  he  would 
have  taken  a  woman  of  his  own  age,  and  he  made 
her  tell  him  about  her  own  young  being  and  of  her 
life  before  he  was  born,  and  it  was  all  wonderful  to 
the  two.  The  woman  of  sixty,  gray-haired  and, 
under  other  circumstances,  stately,  looked  often  into 
the  face  of  her  son  and  then  showed  very  little 
sense  for  a  firm  lady  of  her  age  and  social  standing. 
She  would  occasionally  repeat  the  exploit  of  crying 
a  little  and  then  her  big  son  would  hug  her,  if  the 
occasion  offered,  and  "brace  her  up" — and  that  was 
all. 

In  later  years,  Sargent  thanked  the  good  Lord 
that  there  had  come  in  time  to  him  what  comes  to 
fewer  than  it  should,  the  happiness,  in  manhood,  of 
falling  in  love  with  his  own  mother. 

But  all  this  was  but  of  the  life  of  the  household. 
Outside  there  were  a  thousand  things  which  gave  to 
the  man  a  keen  enjoyment.  He  met  his  old  school- 


THE    HOME    COMING.  215 

mates  again,  the  fellows  who  had  licked  him  or 
whom  he  had  licked,  men  of  his  own  age,  and  they 
exchanged  confidences  and  compared  experiences  in 
the  world.  He  would  sit  in  this  office  or  that  one 
and  smoke  and  talk  with  the  man  of  business,  or  he 
would  sit  with  dangling  legs  upon  some  lumber 
pile  and  talk  with  some  sturdy  laborer  who  had  also 
been  his  playmate  in  the  old  days.  He  sought  out 
his  sweethearts,  too,  and  was  received  by  them  and 
their  husbands  most  hospitably,  and  passed  reckless 
opinions  upon  their  children,  as  he  had  upon  those 
of  his  own  sisters. 

Perhaps,  though,  there  came  no  keener  delight 
than  when  he  went  out  to  the  old  farm  beyond  the 
town,  where  he  was  born,  and  revisited  the  old 
places  in  company  with  an  uncle,  who  owned  the 
adjacent  place,  and  who,  being  much  younger  than 
Sargent's  father,  had  been  a  half-way  companion  to 
him  in  his  youth.  The  uncle,  remaining  on  his 
farm,  had  kept  in  close  touch  with  the  nature  of 
the  region,  and  though,  when  they  separated,  they 
had  been  but  young  man  and  boy,  they  were  now 
two  men  together.  Sargent  was  excited  and  his 
kindly,  keen-sighted  uncle  became  sympathetic  and, 
in  a  degree,  enthusiastic  himself  as  they  wandered 
through  the  old  haunts  and  talked  over  former 
exploits.  In  some  ways  the  experience  had  a  degree 
of  pain  for  Sargent.  Where  once  was  a  forest  of 
beech  ridges  where  ruffed  grouse  had  been  most 
numerous  and  where  they  had  wagered  as  to  which 
would  do  the  better  with  a  snap-shot  as  the  fall 
covey  rose  from  the  shelter  afforded  by  the  branches 


216  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A    MAN. 

of  some  fallen  tree,  Sargent  saw  now  only  a  great 
wheat  field,  a  green  sea  of  verdure  harboring  no 
single  grouse  in  all  its  area.  They  visited  together 
the  site  of  some  woodchuck  hole,  where,  long  ago, 
they  had  dug  out  its  inhabitant  and  witnessed,  as  a 
reward,  a  most  delightful  fight  between  a  small 
terrier  and  one  of  the  largest  woodchucks  they  had 
unearthed  in  all  their  diggings,  but  there  was  no 
woodchuck  hole  there  now,  and,  as  the  college  song 
says,  "the  green  grass  grew  all  "round."  They 
visited  the  old  deer-lick  and,  where  the  little  pond  in 
the  woods  was  brackish  for  some  reason,  Sargent 
saw  no  trees  nor  pond,  but  only  a  buckwheat  field 
not  yet  in  bloom.  In  a  way,  it  was  almost  oppressive 
to  the  visitor.  This  had  been  the  most  comforting 
scene  of  his  imagination,  but  all  had  changed.  The 
cutting  away  of  the  forest  had  affected  the  rainfalls, 
and  at  one  place  upon  a  roadway,  where  there  had 
been  a  little  bridge  beneath  which  the  creek  ran, 
and  where  Sargent  had  caught  minnows  with  a  pin- 
hook  when  a  boy,  there  was  no  bridge  at  all.  The 
creek  had  disappeared.  They  went  into  the  low 
lands  through  which  a  larger  creek  ran  and  where 
there  had  once  been  a  muskrat  pond  whereon  ducks 
alighted  in  their  spring  flight  North,  and  where  the 
blue  crane  found  in  midsummer  sunfish  and  other 
delicacies,  and  where  there  was  a  great  fringing 
border  of  pond-lilies.  But  there  was  no  such 
border  now ;  the  big  creek  had  degenerated  into  a 
slight  one  and  the  pond  was  little  more  than  a 
mudhole,  ploughed  by  cattle  hoofs.  The  tiger 
lilies  still  rose,  blazing  and  luxurious,  in  the 


THE    HOME    COMING.  Si? 

long   grass    of   the    bottoms,    but    the  scene  was 
changed. 

Throughout  all  the  Northern  country  the  pioneers, 
as  they  cleared  away  all  the  other  forest  trees  off 
the  land,  left  standing  in  the  fields  of  the  lower 
slope  one  or  two  great  hickories.  They  left  them 
because  the  hickory  tree  furnished  the  nuts  which 
made  part  of  the  enjoyment  of  a  winter  evening, 
and  because,  as  those  practical  men  reasoned,  the 
hickory,  being  a  slow  growing  and,  when  left  alone 
without  surroundings,  a  somewhat  wide-spreading 
tree,  would  afford  a  shade  for  cattle  feeding  in  the 
field  about  it.  Sargent  thought  of  the  time  of  the 
ripening  of  the  hickory-nuts,  when  the  inefficient 
youngsters  gathered  about  the  trees  and  picked  up 
such  nuts  as  nature  and  the  red  squirrels  threw 
down  to  them.  He  thought  of  the  later  time,  when 
he  was  a  few  years  older,  when  they  threw  clubs  up 
at  the  limbs  and  obtained  their  fullest  harvest.  He 
and  his  uncle  lingered  long  beneath  those  hickory 
trees,  standing  solitary  in  the  lowland  meadows. 
Sargent  pondered  queerly,  and  doubting  himself, 
upon  the  difference  between  the  boy  who  had  been 
born  upon  and  who  had  known  and  grown  up  on 
this  spot  and  the  one  who  had  come  back  again. 
That  hickory  tree  had  once  seemed  to  him  one  of 
the  largest  trees  in  all  the  world.  He  and  his 
cousins  had  struggled  in  the  season  to  get  the  nuts 
from  this  same  giant  of  the  forest  of  that  time. 
Now  he  saw  but  a  symmetrical,  tough  old  tree 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  meadow,  of  about 
one-half  the  height  he  had,  in  his  imagination, 


2iS  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

given  it.  It  was  so  with  other  things ;  all  distances 
seemed  shorter.  It  was  but  a  step  from  the  house 
to  the  barn,  but  a  step  from  the  sheep  field  to  the 
spring — all  things  were  belittled.  He  went  with  his 
uncle  to  the  flats  where  once,  bearing  a  tin  pan,  he 
gathered  mushrooms  in  the  early  morning,  and  to 
the  place  in  what  was  in  his  time  a  buckwheat  field 
where  the  wild  turkeys  found  good  feeding,  and  he 
found  nothing  reminding  him  of  the  past  any  more 
than  a  view  of  the  mouth  of  the  Orinoco  River  would 
remind  one  of  the  mouth  of  the  Minnehaha.  The 
sky-line  bothered  him  most.  In  his  time  the  sky- 
line was  defined  by  something  of  a  blue-black  hue 
lying  between  it  and  the  landscape  which  started 
from  his  feet.  Now  it  was  all  different.  That 
blue-black  line  had  been  the  forest  surrounding 
every  farm.  Now  it  was  all  changed  and  the  wheat 
fields  and  the  other  fields  ran  into  the  sky 
blurringly. 

There  were  other  buoyant  enjoyments,  reminiscent 
all,  into  which  this  exile  of  some  years  plunged  reck- 
lessly. One  day,  walking  along  the  street  with  one 
of  his  sisters,  one  of  the  elder  and  ever  compre- 
hending, he  met  a  woman,  a  widow  reasonably  well- 
to-do,  who  had  once  been  a  schoolmate  and  sweet- 
heart of  his.  She  had  been  hot  of  temper,  piquant 
in  all  ways,  and  just  a  white,  natty  little  personage. 
They  met  and  all  three  strolled  down  the  street 
together  and  the  two,  Sargent  and  his  former 
sweetheart,  drew  somewhat  close  together  in  their 
chatter.  They  came  in  sight  of  the  spire  of  a 
church  which  was  perhaps  a  block  away.  Now  it 


THE    HOME    COMING.  219 

so  happened  that  once,  in  his  boyish  days,  Sargent 
had  met  this  girl  upon  the  sidewalk  and,  seeing  the 
door  of  this  church  open  and  knowing  that  there  was 
no  service  at  the  time,  had  half-way  pulled  her  up  the 
steps  and  into  the  vacant  entrance  and  there  kissed 
her  with  much  earnestness.  It  was  a  social  tragedy 
between  the  two — for  she  was  much  more  in  love 
with  another  youngster — and  he  had  never  kissed 
the  young  lady  again,  but  neither  of  the  two  had 
forgotten  the  incident.  As  they  walked  up  the 
street  together,  he  said  to  her : 

"Jane,  do  you  remember  how  violently  I  once 
pulled  you  up  this  church  portico  and  kissed 
you?" 

"I  remember  all  about  it,"  said  the  fair  widow, 
looking  up  impertinently  into  his  face. 

"Jane,"  said  Sargent,  "do  you  remember  what 
the  Governor  of  North  Carolina  once  said  to  the 
Governor  of  South  Carolina?" 

Now  it  so  happens  that  perhaps  throughout  the 
United  States  the  bit  of  nonsense  best  known 
between  the  seas  is  that  which  occurred  at  an 
unknown  date  between  the  Governors  of  North  and 
South  Carolina.  It  is  grotesque  and  absurd  enough 
to  be  thoroughly  American.  There  is  a  flavor  of 
mint  juleps  and  laughing  conception  and  good  fellow- 
ship about  it  all.  What  the  Governor  of  North 
Carolina  said  to  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina 
was,  "It's  a  long  time  between  drinks." 

The  fact  that  his  fair  companion  admitted  that 
she  remembered  this  also  was  enough  for  Sargent. 
They  were  nearing  the  church  now,  and  there  was 


220  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

no  one  inside  and  the  outer  doors  of  the  portico 
were  open  as  they  had  been  years  before,  while  the 
discreet  sister  had  turned  aside  to  do  some  shopping. 
The  small  widow,  a  slender,  knowing  and  most  lov- 
able small  widow,  was  lifted  up  the  steps  and  a  little 
aside  from  the  doorway  of  the  silent  portico,  and 
there  she  lifted  up  her  lips  again,  and  was  kissed 
again,  this  time  without  a  tremor.  Sargent  thought 
he  might  as  well  take  advantage  of  the  occasion  and 
did  so  with  perhaps  too  much  earnestness.  A  civil 
engineer,  one  who  has  to  deal  with  floods  and 
changes,  gets  into  the  habit  of  improving  every 
opportunity.  Perhaps  he  rather  overdid  the  thing. 

"That's  too  many  at  once,"  said  the  widow. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sargent.  "How  can  there  be 
too  many?" 

But  that  was  the  end  of  this  episode,  for  each  of 
these  two  people  understood  the  other,  and  while 
kissing  is  a  serious  thing — far  more  so  than  is 
thought  by  some  nine-tenths  of  those  who  kiss — 
there  was  nothing  to  it  all;  it  was  but  a  sort  of  jest; 
they  were  only  great  friends.  These  were  fine 
times  for  Sargent  in  one  way,  but  never,  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  happiness  of  home,  was  he  really 
content.  Ever  like  a  strained  cable  was  there  some- 
thing dragging  him  to  the  North.  There  was  a 
tugging,  with  a  woman  as  an  unconscious  power  at 
the  end  of  it,  toward  the  land  of  swifter  summer 
growth  and  lower  temperature. 

Of  course  the  man  knew  what  had  brought  him 
home  at  this  time  in  defiance  of  what  chanced  to  be 
his  own  monetary  interests  and  his  relations  with 


THE    HOME    COMING.  221 

the  great  railway  company,  of  which  he  had  become 
almost  a  part.  He  knew  that  he  had  hungered  for 
his  father  and  mother  and  his  sisters ;  he  knew  that 
he  wanted  to  look  upon  them,  and  his  own  skies  and 
his  own  grass  again,  and  to  meet  those  who  had  been 
the  companions  of  his  youth  and  to  be  more  or  less 
close  to  them  again  as  their  varying  conditions 
might  determine.  He  knew  all  that,  but  underneath 
it  all — and  he  thought  of  something  else. 

One  of  the  cleverest  and  sweetest  writers  in  all 
the  world  once  wrote  a  little  poem  called  "The  Bells 
of  Shandon,"  and  they  still  sound  throughout  the 
resonant  atmosphere  of  intelligent  humanity. 
They're  pretty  good  bells,  those  "Bells  of 
Shandon."  They're  good  bells  and  there  have 
been  hundreds  of  other  as  good  bells,  built  in  blood 
and  metal  throughout  the  centuries,  summoning 
some  one  to  come  somewhere,  but  the  ruffed 
grouse  of  the  North  has  a  wing-beating  bell,  as 
good,  and  it  mattered  little  to  Sargent,  anyway. 
The  woman  has  the  best  bell  of  all,  and  the  man, 
however  she  rings  it,  must  come.  And  these  are  all 
similes  mixed,  for  it  is  almost  impossible  to  tangle 
up  a  cable  and  a  bell. 

One  morning  a  big,  brown  man  shook  hands 
with  his  father  and  talked  with  him  on  business 
matters,  while  the  elder  man's  eyes  gleamed 
satisfiedly  and  proudly,  kissed  his  mother  perhaps 
half  a  dozen  times  more  than  was  the  ordinary 
practice,  and  then,  because  of  the  tugging  of  the 
cable,  took  a  train  for  northern  Michigan.  The 
look  in  his  eye  was  very  different  from  that  of  the 


222  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

eye  of  the  junior  from  college  who  had  made  the 
same  trip  some  years  before.  The  eye  of  the  Caesar 
who  left  Rome  to  gamble  with  his  legions  was  very 
different  from  the  eye  of  the  Caesar  who,  on  his 
return,  did  not  ask,  but  ordered  them  to  cross  the 
Rubicon. 


IN   THE   NORTH   AGAIN.  233 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN  THE  NORTH  AGAIN. 

The  northern  summer  is  late,  and  its  woods 
looked  like  the  woods  of  May  or  early  June  when 
Sargent  took  his  way  through  them  toward  the 
center  of  all  his  hopes,  before  the  summer's  sun  had 
begun  to  show  its  full  power,  even  in  the  Southern 
Peninsula. 

The  years  had  contributed  toward  ease  and 
rapidity  in  traveling  over  the  way  Sargent  was 
taking.  New  settlements  had  sprung  up,  the  roads 
were  at  least  clearly  defined,  though  they  were 
rough  and  almost  wholly  unimproved  since  their  first 
rude  laying  out,  and  here  and  there  a  settler's 
house  sent  up  faint  smoke  wreaths  from  its  wide 
chimney. 

All  along  the  way  were  evidences  of  the  new 
work  of  man.  At  times  the  rugged  highway  would 
pierce  and  twist  its  way  into  and  through  a  forest  or 
cross  what  looked  like  some  vast  clearing,  with  the 
work  upon  it  but  half  done;  but  this  was  only 
where  the  pine  and  hemlock,  had  grown  so  thickly 
that  there  were  few  other  trees  among  them,  and  so 
it  chanced  that  the  lumbermen  or  bark-gatherers 
had  in  certain  areas  accomplished  almost  the  first 
work  of  the  farmer  pioneer. 

At  other  places  along  the  route  smoke  could  be 

15 


224  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

seen  rising  on  the  distant  hillsides.  Men  had 
learned  that  beneath  the  hill-crests  of  the  Northern 
Peninsula  of  Michigan  lay  perhaps  the  greatest 
copper  deposits  of  all  the  world,  and  the  area  of 
search  had  widened  and  shafts  were  being  sunk  at  a 
venture.  The  transformation,  crude  enough,  was 
somewhat  striking.  Certainly  five  years  brings  more 
about  of  change  and  striving  forward  in  the  newly 
developing  portions  of  America  than  in  a  "Cycle  of 
Cathay. ' ' 

Whoever  said  that  "it  never  rains  but  it  pours," 
had  assuredly  a  degree  of  sense  with  some  nonsense 
about  him ;  really,  though,  there  should  be  a  sort  of 
counter-maxim,  something  to  the  effect  that  "the 
sun  never  shines  but  it  shines  more."  The  good 
luck  packages  seemed  to  be  saved  up  and  sent, 
ordinarily,  together.  It  chanced  that  Sargent,  as 
he  rode  from  Conway  on  a  hired  horse,  on  nearing 
the  homestead  he  was  seeking,  overtook  Judge  Sloan 
walking  along  the  shaded  road  a  mile  from  Honey 
Creek.  The  younger  man  fairly  tumbled  off  his 
horse  as  the  two  came  together,  and  reached  out  his 
hand  to  the  old  Judge,  who  recognized  him  in  a 
moment  The  years  had  seemingly  not  affected  the 
aged  jurist's  eyes  nor  his  memory  as  to  those  he 
liked,  and  his  reception  of  Sargent  was  all  that  the 
younger  could  have  desired.  It  was  glad  and 
cordial,  and  Sargent  leading  his  horse,  the  two 
walked  together  and  finally  up  the  slope  to  the 
homestead. 

The  horse  was  given  to  the  astonished  but  grin- 
ning Michael,  who  was  almost  unchanged  in  every 


IN    THE    NORTH    AGAIN.  225 

particular,  and  who,  by  some  accident,  chanced  to  be 
where  he  could  attend  to  work,  and  the  two  men 
entered  the  house — the  well  remembered,  hospitable 
house — but  Barbara  was  not  there.  Then  they 
strolled  out  toward  the  big  barn,  builded  since 
Sargent's  going,  whose  great  sliding  doors  stood 
open,  allowing  the  summer  breeze  to  play  through 
the  building  unobstructed,  between  the  scented  hay- 
mow on  one  side  and  the  grain-mow  with  the  stables 
underneath  upon  the  other.  Sweet  was  the  fra- 
grance still  lingering  about  the  barn  soon  to  be 
filled  again  with  the  product  of  the  fields,  and  sweet 
was  the  air,  coming  scented  from  the  woods,  which 
flowed  through  the  vast  hallway  across  the  big 
farm  building.  There,  as  the  two  men  turned  in 
their  walk  to  where  they  had  a  view  across,  seated 
in  the  swing  which  hung  from  the  lofty  cross-beams 
and  which  in  midsummer  is  an  adjunct  of  almost 
every  barn  in  the  Northern  Peninsula,  was  Barbara. 
A  book  was  lying  in  her  lap,  her  hand  was  folded 
upon  it,  and  she  had  leaned  back  with  half-shut 
eyes,  her  head  resting  against  one  of  the  ropes, 
while  one  dainty  foot  just  touched  the  floor  and  was 
keeping  up  from  time  to  time  a  softly  swinging 
motion. 

It  seemed  ever  afterward  to  Sargent  that  there 
was  in  Barbara's  beautiful,  thoughtful  face  as  he 
saw  it  then  a  look  of  stillness,  a  haunting, 
indefinable  expression  of  slight  but  inexpressible 
sadness.  He  hardly  realized  it  then,  though  it  came 
to  him  afterward.  The  photograph  was  made  upon 
his  mind  at  the  moment  when  he  looked  upon  her 


226  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

hungrily  and  eagerly  as  she  sat  there  in  her  self- 
forgetfulness,  before  she  had  seen  him  or  her  father. 
They  were  talking  as  they  walked  and  as  they 
turned  in  upon  the  log-built  sloping  bridge  leading 
upward  to  the  barn  doors,  the  woman  heard  them 
and  straightened  up  and  saw  them. 

When  she  so  looked  up,  her  face  changed,  and — so 
Sargent  thought,  at  least — it  changed  forever,  so 
vivid  was  the  light  of  welcome  in  every  line  of  it, — 
a  light  which  grew  and  grew  and  never  died  out. 
There  is  much  in  the  eyes  that  see,  so  much  that 
where  one  man  sees  heaven  another  will  pass  by 
indifferently,  seeing  nothing,  but  in  truth  Barbara 
Sloan's  face  was  never  again  quite  the  same,  and 
Barbara  herself  was  never  again  quite  the  same 
after  that  minute  of  surprise  and  joyous  greeting  on 
a  day  in  summer  when  Robert  Sargent  stood  before 
her,  hat  in  hand,  greeting  her  as  if  he  had  but  left 
her  yesterday. 

A  woman's  face — beautiful  as  it  is  to  her  lover — 
is  never  so  beautiful  as  when  she  becomes  a  lover 
herself,  and  love  leaped  up  and  held  the  fair 
woman's  heart  and  looked  out  of  her  eyes  all  in  an  un- 
guarded moment,  as  she  saw  before  her  the  bronzed 
face  and  changed,  yet  unchanged,  figure  of  the  man 
who  had  been  sent  away  humming  the  old  Norse 
song  on  a  winter  day. 

The  Judge,  worthy,  restless  man !  muttered  some- 
thing about  letters  to  write  and  went  away.  And  in 
some  way  Sargent  found  himself  seated  in  the 
great  swing  on  the  wide  seat  by  Barbara's  side. 

Neither  said  anything  for  a  little  time  and  then 


IN    THE   NORTH    AGAIN.  227 

Sargent  began  to  talk  to  the  girl.  The  words  were 
what  he  might  have  said  to  her  when  they  were  last 
together,  but  how  different  the  inflection !  With  all 
their  lovingness  and  all  their  sweetness  there  ran 
unconsciously  through  the  words  of  this  lover  out- 
pouring his  heart  the  steel  cable  of  the  man  who 
knows.  Apropos  of  nothing,  this  is  the  best  lover 
in  the  world,  and  all  women  should  know  it,  though, 
unfortunately,  there  are  not  enough  of  the  class  to 
go  around,  not  more  than  perhaps  about  one  man 
to  a  thousand  women.  The  majority  of  the  other 
fellows  are  pretty  good,  though. 

Barbara  understood.  She  was  as  great  in  her  way 
as  the  man  beside  her  was  in  his,  and  she  under- 
stood. She  sat  silent  for  a  little  while,  but  she  had 
what  one  of  the  hack  phrases  well  describes  as  the 
"courage  of  her  convictions."  She  was  a  woman 
who  had  thought,  now,  and  she  was  not  afraid  to 
say  to  the  man  beside  her  that  she  loved  him : 

"And  she  longed  for  the  Cave  of  Silver! 
And  she  mourned  for  her  absent !" 

She  began  the  old  air  bravely,  her  sweet  voice 
vibrating  with  feeling,  and  then  she  broke  down, 
and,  in  a  moment,  she  was  cuddled  in  the  man's 
arms  and  there  followed  the  old  story  of  two  human 
beings  who  have  found  themselves,  the  story  which 
has  probably  been  told  some  thousands  of  millions 
of  times  since  the  world  began,  which  we  laugh  at 
but  respect,  and  without  which  this  lump  of  earth 
floating  in  space  would  not  be  decently  habitable  for 
human  beings. 


228  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

Sargent  told  the  story  of  his  love  and  longing,  of 
his  faith  and  hope  and  work,  and  all  that  had 
inspired  and  held  him  up  during  the  years  of  his 
absence.  And  Barbara,  replying,  said  a  little  of 
what  her  own  heart  dictated,  the  gist  of  it  all  being 
that  she  loved  Sargent,  and  would  love  him  always, 
— and  was  not  that  enough?  What  more  is  there  to 
tell  of  the  meeting  of  two  crystal  streams  held  long 
apart  and  fretting,  too,  now  at  last  rushing  together 
to  become  one  stream?  Once  hand  in  hand  here  in 
this  Northern  country  on  this  summer  afternoon, 
both  knew  that  nothing  could  part  them  again.  For 
good  or  ill  they  were  one.  The  very  dogs  saw  it  as 
they  walked  to  the  house,  the  birds  saw  it  from  nest 
and  airy  perch;  old  Tilda,  fussing  over  her  milk 
pans  on  the  kitchen  porch,  with  one  swift  glance 
over  her  shoulder  saw  it,  and  Michael,  lounging 
along  the  lane  with  his  string  of  freshly  caught 
trout,  saw  it  through  the  brown  mist  of  a  misty 
being  who  had  never  himself  known  what  he  never- 
theless recognized.  As  for  the  Judge,  though  dim 
the  eyes  of  his  mind  in  some  ways,  he  knew  all 
about  it  at  once,  with  the  perception  which  is  one 
of  the  kindly  things  of  good  old  age,  and  when  the 
lovers  came  into  his  room  and  stood  by  his  chair,  he 
only  looked  at  them  and  said,  "I'm  glad."  Later 
on,  when  he  sat  down  opposite  Barbara  at  the 
dinner  table,  he  remarked,  his  eyes  comprehending 
her  heightened  beauty,  "How  much  you  are  growing 
like  your  mother,  child!" 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  be  content  with  the 
'skins  of  foxes'  after  all,  Barbara,"  Sargent  had 


IN    THE    NORTH    AGAIN.  229 

said,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  porch,  for  a  little 
time.  "Are  you  willing  to  give  up  your  dream  of 
'a  golden  galley?'  I  have  found  work  in  a  world 
that  needs  what  I  can  do,  and  I  can  take  care  of 
you,  if  you  will  come  out  into  the  West  with  me,  but 
I  don't  know  about  your  lying  on  velvet,  or  any- 
thing of  the  sort!" 

"Don't  harp  on  that  old  song,"  said  Barbara 
laughingly  and  lovingly.  "I  trust  you  for  all  time 
to  come." 

Now  if  any  one  imagines  that  there  is  going  to  be 
an  explanation  of  why  Miss  Barbara  Sloan  fell  in 
love  with  Robert  Sargent — and  confessed  it — all  in 
one  moment  of  time,  on  a  still  summer's  day,  she 
who  some  years  ago  had  sent  this  same  young  man 
out  into  the  snow  in  the  dead  of  winter  to  search 
for  a  "Cave  of  Silver"  or  on  some  equally  foolish 
errand — it  seems  as  if  she  did  say  something  about 
"spurs" — if  any  one  imagines  that  this  story  is  going 
to  be  encumbered  with  the  reasons,  arguments, 
entreaties,  protestations  and  allegations  of  this 
young  woman  who  was  very  well  in  her  way,  that 
rash  imagination  and  expectation  is  doomed  to  fall ; 
he  or  she  who  essays  to  reason  upon  certain  high 
and  mighty  mysteries  is  wasting  time.  Taking 
Miss  Barbara  Sloan  at  her  own  word — and  whose 
could  be  better? — she  loved  Robert  Sargent  in  that 
moment  when  he  returned  to  her,  on  that  day  of 
July,  and  engaged  to  love  him  evermore.  Why 
need  we  give  ear  to  all  she  sard  about  her  thoughts 
of  him  in  his  absence — of  her  growing  appreciation 
and  understanding  of  things  in  the  world,  and  of 


230  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

people,  and,  incidentally,  looking  backward,  of  that 
lover  she  had  in  such  innocent  truthfulness  sent 
away  from  her,  cruelly  wounded  if  not  slain?  The 
two  talked  for  hours  over  all  the  time  while  they  had 
been  separated,  and  neither  of  them  tired. 

The  story  of  Elsie,  told  in  time,  made  a  tender, 
heart-stinging  diversion,  and  Sargent  had  to  tell  it 
all  over  more  than  once,  at  Barbara's  command, 
though  she  said,  herself,  that  it  never  failed  to 
make  her  heart  ache,  and  she  owned  that  she  did 
not  like  to  hear  it  or  think  about  it.  Sargent  him- 
self had  a  sense  of  pain  whenever  he  thought  of 
Elsie,  but,  after  a  time,  he  discovered  that  Barbara 
was  always  especially  tender  and  loving  to  him  after 
a  talk  about  the  fragile,  buried  flower  that  had 
withered  before  his  hand  could  reach  it,  and  so  he 
found  some  compensation  for  dwelling  on  an  unwel- 
come theme.  So  Love  triumphs  over  Death,  over  loss 
and  pain  and  all  the  ills  of  existence.  The  flowers 
which  grow  on  graves  have  an  especial,  an  appeal- 
ing, poignant  sweetness  of  their  own. 


VAGARIES.  231 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

VAGARIES. 

He  had  his  foolish,  teasing  moods,  and  though 
Barbara  professed  much  indignation  at  such  times, 
her  eyes  and  lips  betrayed  her.  He  would  demand, 
occasionally,  if  she  loved  him  as  much  and  as  well 
as  she  did  a  quarter  after  three  last  Thursday ;  not 
that  he  remembered  with  any  definiteness  what 
they  were  doing  at  a  quarter  after  three  o'clock, 
but  he  wanted  to  know  whether  or  not  he  was 
holding  his  own  in  her  affections.  She  would  reply 
as  her  fancy  might  dictate,  sometimes  admitting 
that  his  condition  had  become  perilous  and  some- 
times declaring,  with  much  graciousness,  that  she 
believed  there  had  been  no  jot  nor  particle  of 
change  in  any  of  her  feelings.  Then  he  would 
become  more  or  less  indignant. 

"You  believe,"  he  would  say.  "You  only 
believe!  Why  are  you  not  sure?  My  dear  girl,  I 
regret  to  say  that  you  lack  mathematical  accuracy, 
as  so  many  of  us  do,  and  if  ever  mathematical, 
accuracy  is  needed  it  is  surely  in  a  love  affair  such 
as  is  ours.  For  instance,  you,  just  now,  very 
sweetly,  I'll  admit,  used  the  expression  "jot." 
Pardon  me,  but  how  much  is  a  jot?  Can  you  tell? 
I'll  venture  to  say,  my  sunbeam,  that  you  cannot 
even  repeat  the  Table  of  Minimums!" 


232  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

She  expressed  the  opinion 'that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  "Table  of  Minimums. " 

Shocked  and  surprised  was  the  lover  at  such 
ignorance  in  one  so  fair  and,  in  most  things,  well 
informed.  He  explained  ponderously: 

"The  word  'jot,'  just  employed  by  you,  my 
woodling,  is,  in  itself,  one  of  the  terms  of  the  table. 
I'll  tell  it  all  to  you,"  and  he  repeated  in  a  sing- 
song way : 

2  Iotas         make  i  jot 
4  Jots  "     i  tittle 

4  Tittles          "     i  smitch 
a  Smitches      "     i  smithereen 

"And,  oh!"  he  burst  out  as  he  finished  the  sing- 
song, "you  don't  know,  dear,  what  a  comfort  it  is 
to  thus  improve  your  mind!  Of  course,  I  don't 
mean  that  you've  not  a  fine  mind — one  far  superior 
to  my  own — but  there  are  little  things  where  I  can 
help  you  so!  Aren't  you  glad  of  it  all?" 

And  Barbara,  laughingly  indignant,  said  that  she 
had  long  suspected  the  existence  of  streaks  of 
harmless  madness  in  him,  and  was  now  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  her  perception  had  not  been  at 
fault.  Take,  for  instance,  this  foolish  Table  of 
Minimums.  What  silliness  it  was!  What  did  it 
all  mean?  How  could  he  justify  this  outbreak  of 
the  court  jester. 

And  then  he  became  sad-faced  and  earnest  again : 
"Doubt  the  soundness  of  the  Table  of  Minimums! 
Why,  one  would  be  as  abandoned  as  Sidney  Smith's 
man  who  could  speak  disrespectfully  of  the 
Equator!"  He  would  tell  her  all  about  it,  he  said, 


VAGARIES.  233 

and  his  disquisition  on  the  subject  was  intended  to 
be  most  thoroughly  convincing'. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "take  the  Table  of  Minimums — 
honestly,  I  wonder  you  don't  see  all  its  significance. 
I  wonder  that  you  don't  just  gasp  with  happiness. 
Just  think  of  it — think  of  it  for  a  minute  or  even  for 
a  particle  of  a  minute.  You're  engaged  to  the  man 
who  invented  this  Table  of  Minimums!  Now,  I'll 
try  to  tell  you  about  it: 

"My  child  with  the  red-head,  just  look  me  in  the 
eyes  and  listen  thoughtfully  to  what  I  am  saying. 
I  am  going  to  do  you  more  good  within  the  next 
twenty  minutes,  that  is  in  a  purely  mathematical 
way,  than  ever  any  man  did  to  a  girl  since  all  of  us 
had  to  climb  trees  to  get  away  from  things.  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  about  the  Table  of  Minimums." 

But  Barbara  interrupted  his  opening  remarks  of 
explanation  with  the  announcement  that  it  was 
time  to  go  to  dinner,  adding  that  she  was  not  sorry 
to  close  this  interview  and  dismiss  the  subject  of 
conversation. 

"It  was  rather  small,  that's  a  fact,"  assented 
Sargent;  but  he  could  not  be  prevented  from 
engaging  in  a  disquisition  illustrative  of  the  relative 
sizes  and  shapes  of  the  quantities  in  the  table. 

"Now,  Barbara,  turn  your  head  just  a  shade  to 
the  left — the  sun  hits  your  red  hair  that  way  and 
I  like  it  better.  Now,  my  dear,  to  repeat,  and  by 
the  way,  I  rather  like  to  repeat,  Barbara,  my  dear 
Barbara,  we  will  proceed,"  and  he  went  on  with 
the  nonsense,  concluding  grandiloquently,  "Now, 
Barbara,  do  you  understand?  There's  one  comfort 


234  THE    LAUNCHING   OF    A   MAN. 

in  explaining  a  thing  to  a  red-headed  girl.  She's 
impulsive  and  hot-tempered,  but  she  can  generally 
see  things.  I'd  rather  have  something  sharply  com- 
prehensive than  dully  non-comprehensive,  and  I'm 
hungry  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I've  done  you  so 
much  good  to-day  that,  for  the  time,  I  shall  try  to 
do  no  more." 

And  so  they  went  tip  from  the  woods  and  along 
the  pleasant  pathway  to  the  house  and  there  was 
dinner — the  mid-day  dinner  of  the  North — and 
after  that,  talking  between  Sargent  and  the  father 
of  Barbara,  for  these  two,  one  in  his  waning  and  the 
other  in  his  waxing,  kept  getting  closer,  as  it  should 
be  ever  where  gentlemen  are  concerned.  Then, 
of  course,  Barbara  was  dragged  off  again  by  the  fond 
and  foolish  lover. 

The  young  man  was  not  this  time  occupied  in 
mind  with  the  idea  of  the  Table  of  Minim  urns, 
which  is  a  most  beautiful  table — but  was  full  of 
other  varieties  of  foolishness  and  new  manifestations 
of  lovingness.  He  informed  Barbara  in  a  lofty  way, 
as  they  went  down  one  of  the  wood  roads,  that  he 
believed  he  was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  lived 
who  really  knew  how  to  fully  appreciate  a  girl  of 
the  best  of  the  North  Michigan  sort.  Here  he  some- 
what blundered.  The  woman  looked  at  him  charm- 
ingly but  quizzically. 

"When  did  that  wonderful  and'  exceptional 
appreciation  begin?"  she  asked. 

He  was  at  ease  and  confident:  "Oh!  seven  or 
eight  years  ago,  or  whenever  it  was  I  first  met  you. 
It  has  not  varied  since." 


VAGARIES.  ,  235 

"But,"  said  Barbara  innocently,  "though  I  am 
not  scientific,  nothing  but  a  poor  woodland  creature, 
yet  I've  learned  the  regulation  things.  I've 
learned,  for  instance,  that  the  body  changes  every 
seven  years,  and  so  that  this  is  only  another  girl, 
anyhow,  and  you  needn't  fret  for  the  love  of  the 
girl  you  met  at  the  University.  Necessarily,  that 
girl  is  all  gone  somewhere,  I  don't  know  where,  but 
she's  gone!" 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  answered,  "but,  you  see, 
I'm  in  love  with  that  particular  arrangement  of 
particles  and  it  is  understood  that  the  arrangement 
is  duplicated,  after  a  fashion,  in  the  successive 
years  of  the  individual. ' ' 

Of  course  there  was  no  answer  to  that.  There 
would  be  other  moods  and  varieties  of  conversation 
between  the  man  and  the  woman.  On  another  day, 
after  dinner,  when  nothing  had  been  decided  on  for 
the  afternoon,  and  it  was  rather  probable  than 
otherwise  that  all  would  be  lounging  about  the 
house,  Barbara  came  down  arrayed  somewhat  finely, 
that  is,  she  wore  one  of  the  best  of  all  her  gowns, 
and  above  the  stately  ruffle  about  her  neck  the  warm 
hair  and  the  milk-white  skin  were  potent.  It  was 
not  surprising  that  Sargent's  pulse  exerted  itself  and 
made  a  trifle  better  time : 

"She  does  be  a  sumptuous  lady,"  he  said  laugh- 
ingly. 

The  girl  blushed  and  was  glad,  because  she  knew 
what  he  meant.  They  were  alone  in  the  room  and 
she  asked  him  if  he  would  come  and  sit  with  her 
upon  the  sofa.  It  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned, 


236  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

haircloth  kind,  and  she  advised  him,  incidentally, 
to  sit  at  the  farther  end. 

"Will  you  come?"  she  asked. 

"Will  I?"  said  he.  "I'll  come  to  that  sofa  as 
blithely  as  the  meadow-lark  drops  into  the  clover." 

Then  —  this  was  one  of  his  more  or  less  maudlin 
days  —  he  told  her  how  fair  to  look  upon  she 
was  in  the  garb  she  wore,  and  how  often  in  the 
hot  Mexican  nights  he  had  dreamed  of  her  sleep- 
ing or  thought  of  her  when  awake,  and  of  what 
hopeful  comfort  there  came  to  him  in  his  imagin- 
ings. 

"It  was  wonderful  and  it  was  good  forme,"  he 
said.  "I  thought  much  of  the  home,  of  the  home 
of  soft  luxurious  things  for  my  love,  and  of  books, 
and  pictures  and  music,  of  a  pleasant  literary  atmos- 
phere in  which  we  would  rejoice  together  and  work 
together,  we  are  so  alike  in  tastes,  and  how  you 
could  achieve  what  was  in  you  and  how  vain  of  it  I 
should  be  and  proud  to  have  you  meet  the  others  of 
the  world.  I  thought  of  you,  the  stately,  gracious, 
tactful  little  woman  who  would  receive  her  friends 
there  and  rejoice  in  the  fact  that  she  had  such  a 
home  for  them,  and  that  she  would  make  it  a 
privilege  for  them  to  come  to  that  home,  although 
she  would  never  know  it.  And  I  thought  of  our 
love  life  and  of  how  a  woman  should  be  cherished, 
how  I  should  always  be  thinking  of  her  and  make  it 
so  for  her  that  it  would  hardly  seem  like  living 
when  I  was  away.  And  I  thought  of  all  that  might 
come  after  and  the  greater,  broader  happiness  of  it, 
and  the  rounded-out  life  with  her  lived  faithfully. 


VAGARIES.  237 

Oh,  I  dreamed,  dear,  and  I  worked,  too.  And 
here  we  are !  The  dream  is  coming  true. 

"Be  mine,  give  yourself  to  me  literally,  and 
obey  me.  Let  there  be  in  all  your  life  just  an 
abandonment  of  your  entity  for  my  sake.  Try  the 
experiment  and  you  will  get  more  for  it, — for  the 
responsibility  and  the  delicacy  and  the  thoughtful- 
ness  will  be  thrown  on  me, — than  you  would  in  any 
other  way.  You  are  a  woman  of  ambition  and 
intellect,  but  it  is  only  one  such  as  you  who  would 
do  this  thing.  The  weak  woman  would  be  petulant 
at  times  and  not  steadfast  in  purpose,  and  would 
yield  to  some  passing  trouble.  I  want  you  to  be 
great  enough  to  lose  yourself.  I  do  not  say  that  it 
is  right,  nor  that  it  should  be  the  rule  in  marriage, 
for  it  would  be  evil  were  the  right  man  not  involved, 
butj  in  such  case  as  comes  sometimes,  it  is  the 
perfection  of  dual  oneness. ' ' 

And  to  these  sentimental  outbursts,  the  crystalliza- 
tion of  desert  thoughts,  the  young  woman  had 
much  to  say.  She  was  not  afraid,  though.  Since 
the  world  began,  despite  what  some  of  the  weaker 
romances  say,  never  has  man  been  feared  by  woman 
in  an  earnest  love-making.  And  this  woman  had  no 
fear  in  her,  though  she  had  a  certain  timidity  which 
puzzled  Sargent  and  even  puzzled  herself.  The 
intensity  and  masculine  force  of  her  lover  startled 
her,  but  her  own  high-strung  nature,  while  it 
responded  to  his,  protested  at  the  same  time  against 
this  power  which  seemed  to  be  taking  complete  pos- 
session of  her. 

She  was  a  thoroughly  self-reliant  human  being, 


THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

too,  and  revolted  at  the  word  "obey,"  as  savoring  of 
servility  and  old-time  notions  of  domestic  rule,  and 
thought  that  to  give  herself  to  the  young  man  was 
enough,  and,  deep  in  her  heart,  resented  his  think- 
ing it  necessary  to  instruct  her  at  all  as  to  her 
attitude  toward  him.  But  the  strong  love  which 
had  grown  up  in  her  overwhelmed  everything  else, 
and,  silently,  she  thought  that  she  would  do  better 
than  was  asked  of  her ;  that,  with  her,  for  duty,  love 
should  always  stand  in  her  relations  to  Sargent  and 
rule  all  and,  as  for  obedience,  she  was  certain  that 
love  never  would  have  to  issue  orders.  "Where 
Love  puts  on  the  uniform  of  a  general,  discards  his 
bow  and  arrow  for  a  sword,  and  calls  out  '  Present 
arms!'  he  has  become  a  new  sort  of  a  god. "  She 
ventured  so  to  comment  once  when  the  man  had 
been  talking  somewhat  loftily  in  his  innocence ;  and 
the  old  Judge,  who  was  sitting  near  them,  half 
entering  into  their  talk,  smiled  to  himself  and 
whispered  to  the  same  respectful  listener,  "He 
will  learn!  He  will  learn,  in  time!" 

Barbara  was  perfectly  happy,  the  more  so 
because  she  knew  how  happy  she  was.  Love 
brought  to  her  the  crown  of  her  existence  and  she 
could  think  of  nothing  more  perfect  than  this 
cloudless  summer  of  the  present,  with  an  adoring 
strong  lover  to  love. 

It  troubled  the  ardent  man  a  little,  the  very  per- 
fection of  Barbara's  content  and  happiness  in  the 
moment;  for  happy  as  he  was  he  ever  longed  for 
the  completion  of  it  all  in  marriage.  He  could  not 
think  with  patience  of  ever  leaving  her  again.  He 


VAGARIES.  239 

had  inwardly  vowed  to  take  her  with  him  when 
his  time  came  to  go  back  to  the  world  of  work.  "I 
will  take  my  heaven  with  me,"  he  had  resolved. 

And  so,  sometimes,  Sargent  chafed  while  Barbara 
lingered  delightedly  in  the  charmed  present  of  love 
and  dreaming,  loth  to  cross  the  invisible  yet  potent 
line  which  separated  her  from  a  husband's  arms. 

They  were  two  foolish  people,  but  not  the  only 
ones  in  the  world ;  not  the  first  nor  the  last.  On 
the  whole,  they  were  happy  as  some  human  beings 
deserve  to  be,  as  do  all  really  true  lovers. 


16 


240  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I." 

It  was  at  the  crest  and  prime  of  the  year,  when 
flowers  and  leaves  were  fresh  and  young  and  bees 
were  droning  all  day  long  in  Barbara's  garden. 

It  was  almost  too  early  for  it,  there  were  too 
many  blossoms  lying  atop  of  the  lush  openings  in 
the  forest,  or  where  the  weeds  grew  beside  the 
fields,  and  the  buckwheat  lot  was  just  blossoming 
with  its  wide  blown  offering  of  all  that  was  best  for 
them  to  all  the  bees  in  the  world,  but  one  day 
Sargent,  aided  and  abetted  by  the  swart  Michael, 
prepared  for  a  hunting  expedition.  Barbara  was  to 
be  one  of  the  very  select  party,  and  the  prize  was  a 
bee  tree.  Barbara  was  delighted  to  be  able  to 
reconcile  her  tenderness  of  heart  for  once  with  a 
hunting  trip,  and  was  as  joyous  as  a  robin  as  they 
started  on  their  way,  making  straight  for  the 
wooded  hills  and  across  country  to  Gibb's  clearing. 
They  passed  by  the  cabin  where  the  farm  hands, 
wandering  men  from  Canada,  mostly,  lived  in  sum- 
mer, while  work  was  to  be  done,  and  the  three 
adventurers,  climbing  the  three-cornered  rail  fences, 
were  soon  in  the  woods. 

As  they  walked  along  in  the  welcome  shade 
Michael  ran  ahead  of  the  lovers,  or  explored  the 
forest  on  either  side,  returning  to  them  from  time 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."       241 

to  time  much  as  a  dog  runs  around  and  comes 
back  to  his  master  when  a  free  walk  is  under  way. 

"Michael  will  never  grow  old,"  said  Sargent, 
looking  after  the  active  figure  as  it  wound  its  way 
in  the  woods  ahead  of  himself  and  Barbara.  "He 
is  not  changed,  he  will  always  be  a  boy." 

"He  seems  happy,"  returned  Barbara,  "and  yet 
there  is  something  almost  tragic  in  his  fate.  He 
has  stopped  growing,  in  mind  and  body,  and  cannot 
get  beyond  a  certain  point,  but  in  all  his  senses  he 
is  almost  abnormally  acute,  and  with  him  instinct 
seems  to  make  up  for  a  lack  of  intellect. ' ' 

"He  is  a  faithful  soul,  too,"  Sargent  said, 
"although  he  is  full  of  mischief.  He  confided  to 
me  the  other  day,  that  although  he  hates  the  sight 
of  a  book  he  longs  to  read,  just  to  please  his 
mother." 

"Poor  martyr!"  laughed  Barbara,  "he  has  to  go 
to  the  district  school  every  winter,  and  I  don't 
know  which  to  pity  most,  Michael  or  his  teacher!" 

Just  then  the  object  of  their  conversation  burst 
out  upon  them  from  a  hollow  tree,  in  which  was  one 
of  his  own  special  hiding  places,  and  as  they  came 
to  a  creek  he  pointed  out  to  Barbara  another  of  his 
haunts,  a  great  soft  maple,  leaning  far  over  the 
water,  and  covered  with  wild  grape  vines.  Running 
like  a  squirrel  up  the  gray  trunk,  he  beckoned 
Barbara,  and  would  not  be  content  until  she  had 
swung,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  his  vine-wrought  cradle. 
The  delighted  fellow  laughed  and  clapped  his 
hands,  and  sung  in  a  voice,  musical,  with  a  wild 
note  in  it:  "Rock-a-bye,  baby,  up  in  the  tree-top!" 


242  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

Then  the  stalwart  form  of  Sargent  had  to  take  its 
turn  in  the  airy  hammock,  and  the  two  left  Michael 
crooning  to  himself  in  his  swing  as  they  resumed 
their  way.  Soon  he  darted  by  them,  for  the  thought 
of  the  bee  hunt  had  returned  to  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  swinging. 

Michael  knew  bees.  Sargent  knew  bees,  too,  but 
not  as  Michael  did,  and  so  it  came  that  Michael  was 
made  the  head  and  front  of  this  vast  undertaking  of 
finding  a  bee  tree  in  the  forest  at  a  season  somewhat 
too  early  for  the  work. 

Michael  was  almost  a  part  of  the  woodland.  He 
loved  his  mistress,  Barbara,  because  she  was  good ; 
and  because  he  understood  that  she  now  belonged 
to  him,  he  was  henchman  to  the  brown  man,  Sargent. 
It  is  hard  to  trace  the  reasoning  of  such  a  mind 
as  his.  He  knew  as  friendly  beings,  his  mother,  and 
Judge  Sloan,  and  Barbara.  He  knew  and  hated 
the  inoffensive  school-teacher  who  vainly  tortured 
him  with  those  small  black  figures  on  white  paper 
which  meant  so  much  to  many  folk,  but  nothing  to 
him.  And  he  knew  horses  and  dogs  and  cattle, 
and  could  sit  so  still  in  the  forest  that  the  birds  and 
squirrels  grew  bold,  and  came  to  his  hand  to  be  fed. 
But  best  of  all  in  the  world  to  Michael,  most  loved 
and  cherished,  was  his  red  violin.  But  of  all  these 
things  he  never  talked,  at  least  in  words.  Some- 
thing of  his  soul  he  poured  out  in  music,  a  music  as 
simple,  yet  as  freakish  and  baffling  as  his  own 
personality. 

"Oh,  luckless  wight,"  exclaimed  Barbara,  when 
Sargent  showed  himself  splashed,  and  with  one 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."       243 

foot  swinging  wet,  after  a  slip  on  the  stones  as  he 
crossed  the  creek. 

"Why  wight?"  queried  Sargent.  "What  is  a 
wight,  Coppercrown?  Tell  me  out  of  your  garnered 
wisdom.  And  when  you  have  described  your 
wight,  pray  explain  why  he  is  always  a  'luckless,' 
'weary,'  'foolish'  wight." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara,  "what  a  wight  may 
be ;  I  seem  to  have  a  picture  of  him  in  my  mind — 
but  I  do  know  that  a  wight  has  to  be  a  somewhat 
unfortunate  being,  and  though  I  said  'him'  I  really 
think  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  feminine  wight." 

"Of  course  there  is,"  assented  Sargent.  "You're 
one  yourself,  a  feminine  wight,  with  red  hair,  and  a 
white  dress,  and  a  straw  hat  in  her  hand  instead  of 
on  her  head,  where  anybody  but  a  wight  would 
carry  a  hat,  and  one  of  your  misfortunes  just  now  is 
that  you  look  so  that  you  have  to  be  kissed!" 

And  he  kissed  her  then  and  there,  before  Michael 
came  up  with  them.  They  stopped  at  the  edge  of 
Gibb's  clearing,  and  looked  out  upon  the  sunny 
patch  of  greenery,  while  Michael  busied  himself 
about  his  bee-catching  enterprise  with  some  advice 
from  Sargent  thrown  in  now  and  again. 

There  are  half-way  pioneers  as  there  are  half- 
way poets,  generals  and  statesmen.  So  it  comes 
that  in  the  shearing  into  the  forest  of  a  new  country 
there  are  some  who  venture  but  for  a  year  or  two 
and  then  depart.  All  through  the  wild  Northwest 
with  the  drift  of  those  who  cut  away  things  came 
those  who  worked  hardily  for  a  brief  time  and  then, 
being  deficient  in  the  lower  jaw,  abandoned  the 


244  THE    LAUNCHING    OP    A    MAN. 

hard  task.  No  one  can  tell  why  these  certain  strong 
men  made  clearings  and  then  abandoned  them ;  it 
may  have  been  that  the  girl  in  the  East  had  written 
to  the  young  man  that  he  might  come  back  again ; 
but  adjacent  to  all  the  drift  of  civilization  through- 
out northern  Michigan  were  deserted  "clearings," 
each  a  space  hewed  by  some  one  in  the  forest  and 
made  fit  for  cultivation  and  then  abandoned.  These 
rare  open  spaces,  little  farms  begun  and  then  left, 
were,  necessarily,  well  known  to  all  the  people  on  the 
really  developed  farms  of  the  surrounding  regions. 
They  were  oases  in  the  forest,  great  bright  places 
where  the  sun  smote  down  over  areas  it  had  not 
seen  before  since  the  trees  which  once  covered  it 
had  begun  to  grow.  And  there,  upon  the  soil 
where  great  timbers  had  been  felled  and  burned, 
upsprang  a  growth  of  such  things  as  the  land  had 
never  known  before,  a  growth  such  as  the  shrewd- 
est and  most  far-thinking  of  all  the  scientific  men  of 
all  the  world  cannot  yet  account  for. 

There  lay  one  day,  as  the  suddenly  happy  or 
unhappy  pioneer  abandoned  it,  a  burned  area  in 
the  forest  looking  upward  at  the  sun.  One  would 
think  that  the  acorns  or  beechnuts  which  had  been 
dropped  for  centuries  on  the  soil  might  have  become 
embedded  and  would  sprout,  and  that  there  would 
uprise  an  infant  forest  of  the  same  families  as  those 
which  were  all  about,  but  this  did  not  happen. 
From  the  beech-burned  soil  even  the  weeds  which 
first  grew  were  different  from  those  which  had 
existed  in  the  region  heretofore.  Whence  came 
this  seeding?  No  man  can  tell.  For  there  were 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."        245 

none  of  them  in  the  region  until  axe  and  fire  had 
come.  But  the  gross,  rank,  high-growing  fire-weed 
made  first  harvest.  And  as  young  trees  sprang 
upward  they  were  not  beech,  nor  maple,  but  poplars 
growing  thickly  as  in  some  flourishing  nursery. 
How  were  sown,  and  who  sowed,  these  seeds? 
From  what  comes  that  which  appears  when  forest 
land  is  cleared? 

But  there  were  great  open  spaces,  where,  some- 
how, the  common  grass  of  all  the  North  which  wins 
its  way  eventually,  had  found  a  foothold  and  seized 
upon  certain  territory,  and  where  white  clover  grew 
and  many  flowers  and  weeds  rejoiced  in  its  society, 
where  dandelions  flourished  in  their  season,  and 
the  wild  violet,  and  the  wild  phlox,  and  wild  roses 
in  the  damper  places,  with  honeysuckles  often. 
And  a  little  late  in  this  region,  in  the  higher  and 
dryer  places  where  the  grass  grew  more  or  less 
gingerly,  like  the  beard  of  Petruchio's  sexton,  the 
wild  strawberry,  knowing  better  how  to  reach  down 
with  its  roots  to  the  life  juice  beneath,  flung  out 
great  broad  lush  leaves  and  broad  white  blossoms, 
and  lived  very  well  its  life.  A  great  place  for  wild 
strawberries,  the  Northern  Peninsula  of  Michigan. 
There  were  half  a  hundred  other  honey-offering 
things,  blossoming  sweet-scented  in  spaces  of  these 
clearings.  And  the  wild  bees  sought  them,  and 
found  what  they  wanted.  There  were  two  of  these 
clearings  but  a  short  half  hour's  walk  from  the  Sloan 
homestead;  one,  the  Gibb's  clearing,  and  the  other, 
Donahue's  clearing,  and  to  emerge  from  the  forest 
upon  either  one  of  them  in  summer  or  early 


246  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

autumn  was  to  come  into  a  bright  world  of  short 
white  clover  exhaling  a  sweet  fragrance,  and  a  world 
of  droning  and  humming,  and  of  a  life  which  we 
call  beneath  us,  but  the  quality  of  which  we  can 
only  guess  at. 

There  was  an  open  area  of  perhaps  two  hundred 
yards  each  way,  an  area  somewhat  lighter  than  the 
main  clearing.  Michael  began  his  preparations  for 
the  beguilement  of  the  bees  by  building  a  little  fire 
toward  the  southern  end  of  this  space,  and  Sargent 
and  Barbara  rested  in  the  shade,  not  far  away. 
They  were  sitting  in  a  part  of  the  new-springing 
forest,  so  that  the  little  wood-encircled  world  was  all 
before  them  open  to  the  eye.  Together  they  saw 
much.  Barbara  would  have  seen  little,  for  she  did 
not  know;  Sargent  saw  more,  for  he  had  learned 
some  things ;  but  how  little  have  the  most  scientific 
and  woodcrafty  of  us  learned  as  yet  of  the  under 
world  which  may  perhaps  be  the  upper  world! 
They  heard  the  droning,  which  was  sweet,  and 
through  the  laden  air  came  to  their  senses  the  float- 
ing breath  of  the  overflow  of  the  growing  and 
blooming  things  about,  which,  for  aught  we  know, 
may  feel  and  see  in  their  own  way. 

The  two  sat  and  waited.  Near  to  one  side,  where 
the  open  area  cut  sharply  into  the  denser  wood, 
there  stood  an  elderberry  bush,  vagrant,  encroach- 
ing, with  one  outstanding  topmost  limb  of  a  foot  or 
so,  with  leaves  only  at  the  end ;  down,  from  some- 
where, descended  and  perched  upon  the  vacant  space 
of  this  bending,  swaying  twig  a  king-bird,  and  its 
mate  alighted  near  it.  Then  before  the  eyes  of  the 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."        247 

two  onlooking  human  beings,  themselves  full  of 
their  hopes  and  fancies  and  darings,  occurred  the 
every  day  exploiting  performance  of  the  brave  and 
fortunately  skillful.  An  insect,  it  might  be  one  of 
the  bees,  would  rise  and  wing  its  way  from  some 
flower  of  the  open  area  toward  the  forest,  and 
darting  at  right  angles  toward  its  quarry  with  such 
infinite  swiftness  as  can  hardly  be  described,  one  of 
the  king-birds  would  catch  the  insect  in  midair,  and 
there  was  an  end  to  one  insect  life  and  a  partly 
gratified  appetite  in  a  light-breasted  and  slate-col- 
ored thing  of  the  tree  and  air  and  perch.  Then 
suddenly  from  somewhere  came  the  wild,  generously 
alarming  cry  of  the  ever-present  bluejay  as  a  hawk 
swooped  downward  toward  the  thicket  where  song 
sparrows  were  in  sight.  As  the  cry  sounded,  each 
bird  about  the  open  space  dived  into  the  safety  of 
the  greenery,  the  sentinel  bluejay  having  led  the 
way,  and  the  descending  hawk,  missing  the  prey, 
dipped  as  a  wave  dips,  and  rose  again  toward  the 
sky,  but  not  alone.  The  two  king-birds  dropped 
from  their  perches  with  a  curve  so  insignificant  as 
scarcely  to  be  noticeable,  and  then  shot  upward  close 
together  toward  the  hawk,  which  was  seeking  the 
upper  air.  Fast  he  flew,  but  they  flew  faster,  and 
soon  overtook  him.  Either  one  of  them  would  have 
been  scarce  a  mouthful  for  him,  but  their  lightning- 
like  swiftness  placed  him  at  a  disadvantage,  and  he 
knew  it  well.  They  flashed  about  and  pecked  and 
belabored  him  from  above,  and  though  they  could 
not  kill  him,  his  strait  was  sore  for  half  a  mile  away. 
Then  the  two  king-birds  darted  back  over  the 


248  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

intervening  distance  and  alighted,  calmly  insolent 
and  protective,  into  the  tree  where  their  own  nest 
was,  and  into  the  branches  where  no  other  bird 
might  venture  safely.  Barbara  looked  on  amazedly, 
and  Sargent  explained  the  qualities  of  this  little 
bird,  called  the  bee-martin  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  but  whose  name — the  king-bird — fits  it  as 
neatly  as  does  the  shell  of  an  acorn  its  nut. 

Sargent  and  Barbara,  sitting  at  ease  and  speaking 
in  but  low  tones  according  to  Michael's  plea,  were 
amused  to  see  the  eyes  of  the  swarthy  bee-hunter 
fixed  upon  them  from  time  to  time  with  a  wonder- 
ing, mysterious  questioning  in  his  dark  gaze.  He 
was  fumbling  over  his  little  box  of  honey,  whisper- 
ing to  himself,  and  then  casting  puzzled  looks  at 
them  until  Sargent  asked,  at  last:  "What  are  you 
thinking  of?"  But  he  was  only  importunately 
motioned  to  by  Michael  for  silence.  This  started 
Barbara  into  a  laugh  and  Sargent  took  the  infection 
of  merriment,  before  long  to  be  joined  by  Michael 
himself,  and  the  three  made  the  wood  ring  with 
happy,  causeless  laughter. 

The  lovers  never  heard  from  the  lips  of  Michael 
the  gist  of  the  thought  which  lay  behind  his  specula- 
tive gaze,  but  he  confided  the  secret  to  his  mother. 
Michael  was  thinking  in  that  darkened  mind  of  his, 
of  the  old  and  decent  custom  of  "telling  the  bees" 
when  death  enters  the  family,  and  was  wondering  if 
that  ceremony  were  not  as  important  when  a  mar- 
riage is  celebrated.  He  had  his  own  thoughts  and 
opinions  about  the  canny  bees,  and  on  no  account 
would  he  have  omitted  any  attention  to  the  hive  or 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."        249 

more  of  them  in  the  Judge's  garden  which  he 
guarded  as  his  own  special  property,  captured  as 
they  were  by  him  from  their  wild  forest  home. 

Often  in  summer  twilights,  lengthened  in  these 
northern  latitudes,  Michael  sat  on  a  convenient  log 
in  the  garden  near  the  bee-hives  he  himself  had 
made  from  a  hollow  basswood  log,  and  played 
sleepy  tunes  to  his  small  black  and  yellow  friends. 
He  talked  to  them,  and  crooned  old  songs  and 
rhymes  to  them,  and  was  sure  that  they  understood 
him  better  than  did  the  people  around  him — and 
who  shall  say  that  they  did  not? 

When  the  laughter  was  over  for  a  moment, 
Michael  bestirred  himself  for  his  adventure  and 
Sargent  explained  to  Barbara  the  scientific  lines 
upon  which  bee-hunting  is  founded.  It  is  true 
that  successful  bee-hunting  comes  as  a  gift  to  cer- 
tain unlearned  folk,  but  there  is  science  back  of  it, 
nevertheless. 

Barbara  watched  Michael  now,  having  previously 
examined  at  close  range  his  outfit  for  capturing  a 
few  of  the  swarming  marauders  who  were  rifling 
every  flower  in  sight. 

He  had  a  little  box  made  of  thin  pine  board,  the 
cover  of  which  slid  easily  back  and  forth  in  a 
groove  and  which  had  let  into  it  a  piece  of  window 
glass  enabling  the  observer  on  the  outside  to  see 
what  was  going  on  within.  Michael  drove  a  stick 
in  the  ground,  and,  somehow,  so  managed  things 
that  it  stood  there  safely  balanced  at  the  height  of  a 
man's  head,  so  that  one  watching  anything  flying 
from  that  box  could  get  a  fair  sight  from  the  start. 


250  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A   MAN. 

Then  he  picked  up  a  flat  stone  and  laid  it  near  the 
bottom  of  the  stake  upon  which  the  box  was  placed. 
In  the  box  was  merely  a  bit  of  honey  in  the  comb, 
and  in  his  pocket  Michael  had  brought  some  bees- 
wax. In  his  fire  the  stone  was  heated,  and  upon 
it  the  beeswax  was  placed,  where  it  melted  and  ran 
about.  There  arose  then  the  beeswax  odor  which 
all  the  world  knows,  and  it  called  the  bees. 

They  came — only  the  good  Lord  knows  the  ways 
of  the  bee  and  the  ant — but  they  came  from  the  sur- 
rounding forest,  drawn  by  the  scent  or  fragrance  or 
whatever  you  may  call  it  which  told  them  in  some 
inscrutable  way  where  was  the  sort  of  sweetness 
upon  which  their  brief  life  must  depend. 

They  came  dipping  toward  the  burning  wax,  but 
lifted  upward  and  settled  into  the  honey-laden 
box,  and  there  having  found  a  small  fortune  for  the 
hive,  began  loading  themselves  to  the  utmost. 

There  were  perhaps  four  or  five  bees  upon  the 
honey  when  Michael  shot  back  the  glass  cover  and 
left  the  gorging  inhabitants  imprisoned.  Michael 
now  cared  no  longer  for  Sargent  and  Barbara.  He 
was  as  the  gambler  is,  absorbed  in  nothing  but  his 
game,  for  your  bee-hunter  is  as  great  a  gambler  in 
his  way,  though  honestly  and  unknowingly,  as  any 
man  who  ever  threw  dice  when  the  army  swore 
terribly  in  Flanders,  or  who  in  later  times  has  taken 
his  chances  in  Monte  Carlo  or  Baden-Baden. 
Michael  but  watched  the  bees.  One  by  one  each 
became  surfeited  or  rather  fully  laden  and  essayed 
to  leave  the  place  wherein  he  had  become 
imprisoned.  Michael,  the  watchful,  waited  until 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."        251 

all  were  full  and  impatient  and  bumping  against  the 
glass  which  seemed  but  sky  to  them,  and  then  he 
drew  back  the  slide  suddenly,  and  yelled  to  Sargent : 

"Watch!  look  where  the  bees  go!" 

Never  was  word  better  devised  than  that  which  is 
called  a  "bee-line,"  for  straighter  than  bullet  from 
its  powder  bed — since  its  trajectory  is  not  inclining 
— flies  the  bee  from  its  loading  place  to  its  home. 
What  superhuman  instinct  enables  it  to  do  this  no 
one  can  tell,  but  the  fact  remains. 

The  bees  flew  from  the  open  box  across  the  clear- 
ing, one  after  the  other,  all  in  the  same  line,  which 
showed  that  they  all  belonged  to  the  same  lofty 
hive,  while  the  keen  eyes  of  Michael  and  Sargent 
followed  them,  noting  the  direction  of  their  straight 
course.  Barbara  looked  on  amazed  and  interested. 
Twice  and  thrice  was  the  experiment  repeated, 
Michael  becoming  oblivious  to  all  else  in  the  pulse 
of  his  search,  and  Sargent  himself  getting  almost  as 
much  involved  in  the  interest  of  the  thing.  They 
had  a  "line"  and  a  promising  one,  because  the  great 
number  of  the  bees  indicated  a  hive  of  magnitude, 
but  how  far  away  from  them  in  the  forest  was  the 
bee-tree  was  another  matter.  They  knew  how  to 
settle  that  question,  though.  The  bees  had  flown 
northeast,  almost  directly.  But  a  short  distance 
east  of  them  was  the  Donahue  clearing,  and  there 
they  went.  Again  were  repeated  all  the  pioneer 
enticements  for  the  bees,  again  all  about  the  trio 
were  the  wonderfully  sweet  blandishments  of  the 
summer  life  of  the  region,  and  again  came  the  bees 
to  sip  to  their  full,  and  cloyed,  to  fling  themselves 


252  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

away  in  a  straight  line  through  mid-air  to  the  hive  in 
some  great  lofty  tree  bole.  Before,  they  had  flown 
northeast,  and  now  they  flew  northwest,  to 
Barbara's  bewilderment;  and  Sargent  and  Michael, 
the  man  of  the  world  as  excited  as  the  creature  of 
the  forest,  discussed  the  matter,  but  not  with  hope- 
lessness. The  two  men,  each  in  his  own  way,  knew 
that  the  two  flights  must  have  met,  and  that  where 
they  met  was  the  bee-tree.  Uprising  above  the 
general  sky-line  of  the  forest  was  a  gigantic  pine 
which  was  agreed  to  be  a  little  to  the  north  of  where 
the  lines  must  intersect  and,  since  this  particular 
pine  happened  to  stand  in  an  open  space,  and  to 
have  been  a  landmark  for  many  wanderings,  they 
could  estimate  as  to  where  within  a  radius  of  not 
many  hundreds  of  yards  must  be  their  bee  tree. 
They  bolted  away  all  three  together,  Michael  a 
little  in  the  lead,  trotting  with  head  down  like  a 
beagle,  and  Sargent  running  along  after,  hand  in 
hand  with  Barbara,  laughing  also,  but  running,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  as  the  hind  follows  the  hart. 

They  reached  a  place  near  where  they  thought 
should  be  the  bee-tree,  and  in  a  little  open  space 
they  found  Michael  repeating  the  exploit  of  the 
clearings.  Little  time  was  required  now.  As  soon 
as  the  wax  burned  there  was  a  descent,  not  of  one, 
but  of  a  host  of  bees  upon  the  honey  in  the  open 
box.  No  longer  were  they  imprisoned  at  all,  but 
were  allowed  to  fill  themselves  and  fly  away.  They 
were  too  near  home  now  to  toy  with  other  sweets 
before  carrying  their  conquests  to  the  hive.  They 
came  in  hosts  and  loaded  themselves  greedily  and 


"WHERE  THE  BEE  SUCKS,  THERE  SUCK  I."        253 

chen  flew  up  with  a  slant  so  steep  that  the  half 
barbaric  Michael  danced  about  excitedly. 

"We've  got  'em,"  he  said. 

They  moved  the  lure  a  few  hundred  feet  to  the 
right  and  the  bees  came  as  before,  in  hosts,  and 
thus  they  gained  another  locating  point,  a  close  one 
this  time,  and  again  making  an  estimate  and  again 
moving,  they  came  into  an  opening  in  the  midst  of 
which  stood  a  gigantic  red  oak,  dead,  apparently,  on 
one  side,  from  a  growth  of  fifty  feet  above  its  roots. 
The  bees  flew  straight  upward  now,  and  keen 
eyes  soon  detected  the  opening  to  one  of  the  great 
hives  of  the  wilds.  Just  above  a  vast  dead  limb 
there  was  a  little  black  hole  into  the  huge  brown 
trunk,  and  about  this  opening  weaved  and  buzzed  a 
coming  and  going  swarm  of  little  black  workers,  as 
numerous  as  about  the  hives  of  the  ordinary  home- 
stead where  bees  are  kept.  The  bee  tree  was  found. 

There  is  a  custom,  which  is  also  a  law,  which 
gives  to  the  discoverer  of  a  bee-tree  a  right  to  it  if 
into  the  bole  of  the  tree  he  cuts,  squarely  and 
cleanly,  initials,  indicating  ownership.  Sargent 
knew  this  well,  and  taking  Michael's  little  axe  he 
hewed  into  the  vesture  of  that  not  altogether  pros- 
perous forest  monarch  the  outlines  "B.  S."  "It's  an 
ancient  compliment,"  he  said.  "Youths  say  it  when 
they  give  some  caramels,  but,  'Sweets  to  the 
Sweet. '  "  So  Barbara  owned  a  bee-tree. 

As  for  Michael,  that  elfish  young  man  was  lost  in 
anticipation  of  the  night  when  he  should  come  with 
full  authority,  and  men  to  help  him,  to  take  and 
carry  home  the  sweet  spoils  of  this  summer  day. 


254  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

As  they  walked  slowly  homeward  through  the 
woods,  Michael  fairly  flying  on  before,  the  lovers 
went  hand  in  hand,  like  two  school  children. 

"I  can  hardly  believe  in  this  happiness  of  ours," 
Sargent  said,  earnestly.  ' '  I  have  dreamed  a  hundred 
times  of  being  by  your  side,  secure  in  your  love,  as 
I  am  now,  and  it  has  come  true.  To  be  happy,  and 
to  know  how  happy  one  is — that  is  wonderful. ' ' 

"Yes,"  Barbara  said,  "children  are  happy,  but 
they  don't  know  it.  We  know  just  how  to  be 
thankful,  don't  we?" 


'MORE."  255 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"MORE." 

The  wise  lover  has  occasion  frequently  to  pay 
almost  as  much  attention  to  some  man  as  to  his 
sweetheart.  He  becomes  interested  in  the  welfare 
of  the  males  of  the  family  with  which  he  may 
become  connected.  So  it  came  that  Sargent,  sym- 
pathetic and  strong,  was  attracted  anew  to  the 
father  of  this  Barbara.  The  men  came  to  care  more 
and  more  for  each  other  and  the  elder  to  lean  on  the 
younger.  It  was  fortunate  that  this  was  so,  for  a 
man  young,  forceful  and  resolute  was  needed  on  the 
scene. 

It  is  a  proverb  that  shoemakers'  children  go 
unshod.  This  may  or  may  not  be  literally  the  case, 
but  it  appears  to  be  a  generally  admitted  fact  that 
not  one  lawyer  or  even  judge  in  a  dozen  is  a  good 
business  man.  His  advice  to  others  upon  business 
subjects  may  be  perfect,  but,  like  the  physician,  the 
lawyer  does  not  seem  capable  of  healing  himself. 
Conditions  are  neglected  in  theories.  So  it  happened 
that  Judge  Sloan,  wise  and  just  jurist,  owning, 
because  he  had  paid  for  it,  a  large  and  valuable 
tract  of  land  in  northern  Michigan,  was  in  danger 
of  losing  his  estate.  He,  who  as  a  judge  had  passed 
upon  the  quality  of  a  thousand  titles,  had  neglected, 
in  his  own  buying,  sufficient  inquiry  into  the  clear- 
17 


256  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

ness  of  a  title  the  quality  of  which  was  much  to  him. 
There  was  a  weak  spot  in  it.  Some  miles  distant 
from  Judge  Sloan's  place  there  lived  a  queer  and 
not  altogether  reputable  old  person  named  John 
Tisdale,  half  hunter,  half  trapper  and  about  one- 
third  drunkard,  who,  in  earlier  days,  had  secured 
from  the  general  government  a  patent  on  the  land 
which  was  now  Judge  Sloan's.  The  hunter  had, 
long  ago,  sold  his  perfect  title  for  some  small  sum, 
but  had  never  properly  transferred  it,  though  the 
one  to  whom  he  sold  had,  in  all  honesty,  given, 
when  he  in  turn  had  disposed  of  it,  a  warranty  deed 
of  usual  form.  From  that  had  come  the  transmission 
to  Judge  Sloan,  but  the  title  was  not  flawless. 

Old  Hiram  Slade — it  is  odd  how  regions  and  con- 
ditions breed  them — old  Hiram  Slade,  smooth-haired 
and  pallid,  and  gray-bearded  with  shaved  upper  lip, 
the  land  cormorant  of  the  big,  wild  county,  had,  in 
his  seekings  among  the  books  of  the  recorder's  office 
in  the  little  county  seat  of  Conway,  ten  miles  away, 
discovered  the  nature  of  the  flaw  in  Judge  Sloan's 
title  and  had  sought  out  disreputable  old  John  Tis- 
dale in  his  hut  and  bought  from  him  a  quit-claim  deed 
to  all  the  property  involved  in  the  original  patent. 
He  paid  only  twenty  dollars — for  old  Tisdale,  when 
extremely  thirsty,  would  have  sold  his  soul's  pros- 
pects— and  there  might  have  been  a  profit  on  the 
trade — for  half  the  sum. 

So  began  the  work  of  Hiram  Slade ;  but,  later,  it 
so  happened  that  from  the  same  money  so  trans- 
ferred came  what  might  mar  the  scheme,  for  Tisdale, 
squandering  most  of  it  in  a  debauch  in  Conway, 


"MORE."  257 

became  too  talkative  and  told  of  how  his  sudden 
wealth  had  come.  His  chatter  reached  the  ears  of 
Judge  Sloan  upon  his  next  visit  to  the  town,  and  he, 
listless  though  he  ordinarily  was,  became  sufficiently 
impressed  to  himself  seek  out  John  Tisdale  in  his 
fastness  and  get  from  him  a  quit-claim  deed  as  old 
Hiram  Slade  had  done,  for  the  Judge  had  discovered 
that  the  Slade  deed  had  not  been  yet  recorded. 
The  irresponsible  and  thirsty  Tisdale  would  have 
given  quit-claim  deeds,  as  he  had  a  legal  right  to  do, 
to  any  one  to  any  piece  of  property  in  all  the  Pen- 
insula of  Northern  Michigan.  Much  depended  now 
upon  the  exhibition  of  energy  in  the  recording  of  a 
deed,  but  neither  of  the  two  most  interested  knew 
of  the  imminence  of  things. 

As  related,  Sargent  and  the  old  Judge  were  draw- 
ing more  closely  together,  and  so  it  came  that  the 
older  told  the  younger,  in  a  general  way,  of  his 
monetary  difficulties,  but  failed  to  give  him  details. 
Trouble  and  stress  would  have  been  avoided  if  he 
had  but  told  more.  The  Judge  had  himself  almost 
forgotten  that  his  deed  had  to  be  recorded  to  make 
good  the  title  which  was  his  in  equity.  And  the 
days  passed  by  and  the  young  grouse  were  getting 
feathers  in  place  of  down,  when  matters  became 
serious.  The  details  of  what  happened  then  must 
come  a  little  later. 

After  all,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  smooth  sailing, 
with  a  woman  in  the  boat,  thought  Sargent,  when  he 
came  to  press  upon  Barbara  the  setting  of  the  time 
for  their  marriage.  Sargent  was  anxious  to  convey 
his  bride  home  with  him  before  the  fall  of  the 


258  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

leaves,  but  he  found  little  encouragement  to  enlarge 
upon  this  dream  to  Barbara.  Whenever  he  ap- 
proached the  subject  with  an  air  of  practical  deter- 
mination Barbara  whirled  away  into  the  universe 
anywhere  for  a  subject  of  talk  except  in  the  line  the 
lover  was  taking. 

Once,  when  fairly  at  bay,  she  turned  on  the  young 
man,  and  reproached  him  for  intruding  the  topic  of 
marriage  upon  their  little  lover's  heaven. 

"Marriage  is  so  prosaic,"  she  cried.  "Why, 
you'll  be  calling  me  'My  Dear,'  and  talking  about 
rents  and  taxes  to  me,  when  once  we  are  married. 
I  can  just  hear  you  say:  'My  Dear,  have  you  seen 
the  morning  paper?'  Ugh!"  And  she  shivered  over 
the  anticipated  horrors  of  the  bleak  and  humdrum 
matrimonial  existence  she  had  conjured  up. 

At  another  time,  when  the  great  question  of  the 
hour  had  been  craftily  sprung  by  the  perplexed 
lover,  Barbara  gravely  explained  that  she  had 
serious  fears  about  certain  details  of  their  marriage. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "whom  could  we  get," — and 
here  she  had  the  grace  to  blush, — "to  perform  the 
ceremony?  The  only  clergyman  in  the  woods  here 
is  Elder  Goings,  a  good  man  he  is,  but  a  toothless, 
and,  if  he  can  read,  he  can't  speak  one  sentence 
straight;  I  mean  as  to  grammar  and  pronunciation." 

"What  difference  would  that  make?"  said  the 
infatuated  lover. 

' '  Difference !  Why,  I  simply  will  not  stand  up — I 
could  not,  and  keep  my  countenance, — while  he  said, 
'Barbary,  do  you  take  Robe-r-r-t  to  be'  " — but  here 
the  mimic  was  hushed  by  force  of  arms. 


"MORE."  259 

"The  only  other  possible  man, "  she  continued, 
when  she  had  caught  her  breath,  "is  Squire  Fletcher, 
— the  young  squire,  but  he  stammers  so  I  should  die ! 
I  could  not  stand  it !  We'll  have  to  give  it  up !  But, 
don't  you  think  we  are  very  happy  as  we  are?" 

"Barbara,"  said  Sargent,  "you  mean  to  marry 
me,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  some  day,"  washer  reply,  "but mind,  no 
cold-blooded,  set,  ordained,  and  duly  elaborated 
wedding  shall  we  ever  have !  You  shall  come  some 
fine  morning  like  young  Lochinvar  and  ride  away 
with  me  on  your  saddle,  or  like  the  lover  in  St. 
Agnes'  Eve  you  shall  steal  me  away  some  bitter  cold 
night  and  together  we  will  ride  through  the  pelting 
snow!  That  would  be  something  like!" 

Here  she  was  brought  to  an  end  of  her  discourse. 

"Now,  by  my  halidom,  fair  shrew!"  thundered 
Sargent,  springing  to  the  open  doorway!  "Married 
thou  shalt  be  without  delay,  even  to  me  and  by  bell 
book  and  candle!  I'll  saddle  the  snow-white  roan 
and  prick  to  the  Straits,  and  eftsoon  bring  back  a 
sleek  priest,  an'  he  can  urge  his  ambling  palfry  from 
a  walk!  And  then,  scornful  though  thou  art,  the 
blessed  rite  shall  join  us  ere  set  of  the  morrow's 
sun!" 

He  tightened  his  belt  around  his  waist,  as  for  the 
journey,  but  a  momentary  diversion  cleverly 
executed  by  his  fair  enemy  and  enslaver  delayed 
him,  he  hesitated,  and  the  mad  ride  in  search  of  a 
parson  was  postponed. 

One  day — alack  the  day!  It  must  come  even 
with  true  lovers — the  two  quarreled.  Sargent, 


260  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

intoxicated  with  the  new  wine  of  assured  love,  was 
very  buoyant,  and  had  just  told  Barbara  as  they 
walked  in  the  woods  together,  that  nothing  could 
ever  trouble  him,  now  that  he  was  sure  of  her. 
Then  Barbara,  echoing  back  his  happiness,  at  first, 
lapsed  into  a  dreamy  silence  from  which  she  emerged 
to  announce  that  she  had  something  "serious"  to  say. 

"That  is  almost  as  bad  as  if  you  said  you  were 
going  to  speak  plainly  and  tell  me  the  truth  about 
something,"  said  Sargent,  "but  go  on,  sweetheart, 
and  be  as  serious  as  you  may,  if  you  only  aver,  to 
begin  with,  that  you  love  me  well!" 

The  declaration  of  undying  love  was  duly  made 
with  appropriate  ceremonies  such  as  lovers  know, 
and  then  Barbara  proceeded  to  unburden  her  mind. 

It  was  nothing  but  a  young  woman's  tender 
thought  about  the  father  she  was  to  leave  while  she 
followed  the  fortunes  of  a  husband  in  his  roving  life ; 
and  Sargent  met  the  loving  heart  half-way,  and 
unfolded  plans  he  had  already  made  to  secure  the 
comfort  and  happiness  of  Judge  Sloan  when  his  child 
should  leave  him. 

They  had  an  hour  of  quiet,  loving  talk  together, 
speaking  of  the  widowed  sister  of  the  Judge,  who, 
with  her  daughter,  was  to  come  and  live  with  him, 
and  of  other  family  affairs.  Barbara  was  anxious, 
not  only  over  her  father's  future,  but  his  present 
troubles,  of  which  she  knew  enough  to  make  her 
uneasy.  To-day  she  was,  in  consequence  of  this 
unspoken  worry,  a  little  out  of  tune  with  the  world, 
tender  of  feeling,  and  easily  ruffled.  The  talk 
drifted  from  personal  matters  after  a  while,  and 


"MORE."  261 

then  some  little  word  of  Sargent's,  it  might  have 
been  about  the  moon  or  stars,  or  how  the  bark  grew 
upon  a  tree, — it  happened  to  be  the  character  and 
possibilities  of  the  American  Indian  that  they  were 
discussing — neither  knew  how  or  why,  but  a  spark 
of  anger  leaped  from  Barbara's  eyes.  Sargent 
blunderingly  fanned  the  blaze,  and,  in  a  minute,  the 
two  were  flaming  in  angry  debate.  Sargent  was 
the  first  of  the  two  to  regain  himself,  and  he  tried 
to  laugh  the  whole  episode  away,  but  in  vain.  They 
walked  back  to  the  house  in  moody  silence,  and 
Barbara  kept  herself  oat  of  the  light  of  her  lover's 
eyes  during  most  of  the  day,  while  he  resolved  never 
to  boast  again  of  complete  happiness  and  was  quite 
miserable  in  a  protesting,  impatient  way,  having 
completely  forgotten  what  the  whole  wretched 
quarrel  was  about ;  indeed  he  could  only  recall  that 
Barbara  was  angry  with  him,  and  declare  to  himself 
that  he  was  doubtless  a  brute. 

He  went  about  like  an  uneasy  ghost,  and,  at  night, 
was  stalking  moodily  out  into  the  moonlight  for  a 
walk,  just  as  the  family  were  retiring  to  their  rooms. 

Barbara,  in  her  white  dress,  came  to  the  door,  and 
seeing  Sargent  standing  on  the  pathway,  stepped 
upon  the  porch  landing  and  slowly  approached  the 
silent,  brooding  figure  near  the  gate.  Not  a  word 
was  said  as  the  slight  figure  joined  the  stalwart  one. 
The  man  turned  toward  her  silently  and  the  woman 
took  his  arm.  They  walked  up  and  down  the 
pathway  together  and  something  was  said  in  a 
perfunctory  way  about  the  luxuriance  of  the  night. 
Then  Sargent  broke  out  suddenly : 


262  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

"I  set  a  rhinestone  in  gold.  The  trouble  with 
me  and  my  family  and  race  is  that  we  cannot  pluck 
out  the  rhinestone  and  put  a  real  jewel  in  its  place. 
It  is  decreed  that  way.  We  must  be  faithful  to  what 
or  whom  we  love,  be  it  good  or  bad. ' ' 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  except  to  ask  him  if  he 
thought  he  had  ever  seen  a  clearer  night  or  when 
the  stars  hung  lower,  even  in  their  northern 
country?  He  answered  courteously  but  stiffly.  So 
they  walked  up  and  down  and  through  the  garden 
until  the  time  came  when  she  said  she  must  go  in 
and  parted  gently  from  him. 

This  was  good  night,  he  knew,  and,  furthermore, 
he  began  to  realize  that  he  had  made,  in  some 
measure,  an  ass  of  himself,  as  men  deeply  in  love  do 
easily.  Yet  he  was  stiff  in  his  repentance,  as  men 
sometimes  are,  and  when,  as  she  turned  to  go  away, 
he  took  her  hands  and  drew  her  toward  him,  he 
kissed  her  very  lightly. 

The  girl  drew  back  with  the  moonlight  smiting 
pleasantly  on  her  fair  face.  She  looked  upward  into 
the  face  towering  above  her  and  lifted  up  a  pair  of 
lips  not  of  the  sort  to  be  resisted. 

"More,"  she  said. 


JOHN    HALFDAY'S    ERRAND.  263 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

JOHN  HALFDAY'S  ERRAND. 

Judge  Sloan  seemed  to  be  quite  easy  as  to  the 
designs  of  Hiram  Slade  upon  his  property,  and  after 
he  had  unburdened  his  mind  to  Sargent  he  settled 
back  into  his  usual  abstracted  yet  genial  mood, 
delighting  to  be  interrupted  in  his  reading  by  any 
conversation  upon  abstract  subjects,  but  rather 
resentful  if  topics  of  every-day  import  were  thrust 
upon  him. 

Barbara,  keenly  alive  to  all  which  touched  her 
father,  and  full  of  youthful  ardors  of  love  and  hate, 
had  become  intensely  interested  in  the  character  of 
Hiram  Slade,  who  was,  as  she  said  to  Sargent,  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  villain  that  she  had  ever  seen 
in  her  quiet  corner  of  the  great  world,  and  it  was 
not  surprising  that  such  conclusion  had  been  reached 
by  her.  Cupidity  is  the  most  inexplicable  of  vices  to 
generous  natures,  and  to  inexperience  it  is  incredible. 
The  lovers  reasoned  and  argued  much,  as  is  always 
the  wont  of  ardent  young  folk,  over  the  puzzling 
problems  of  the  never-ending  study  of  man  in  this 
world.  They  were,  fortunately,  not  touched  by  the 
rage  of  religious  or  doctrinal  dispute,  being  content 
to  rest  unquestioningly  in  the  quieting  arms  of  the 
faith  into  which  both  had  chanced  to  be  born. 
They,  in  their  happy  mood,  were  full  of  love  toward 


264  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

God  and  all  his  creatures ;  and  they  had  no  arrogant 
idea  that  they  were  right  in  all  their  religious  beliefs, 
while  all  who  differed  from  them  were  wrong.  They 
simply  rested  in  loyal  faithfulness  to  the  high  ideals 
which  are,  after  all,  discernible  in  every  branch  of 
the  Christian  religion,  and  which  had  been  held  up 
to  them  wisely  and  lovingly  in  the  impressionable 
years  of  childhood  and  of  youth. 

But  there  were  the  endless  themes  of  human 
virtues  and  failings,  aspirations  and  defeats,  and  all 
the  wondrous  turns  of  character  and  incident  to  talk 
about  and  wonder  over,  and  there  were  the  allied 
fields  of  literature  and  art  to  compare.  The  two 
found  sympathies  and  antipathies  in  common,  and 
sometimes  they  found  themselves  firmly  opposed  in 
likes  and  dislikes — and  as  the  days  passed  by,  they 
delighted  more  and  more  in  each  other. 

Barbara,  for  example,  rebelled  at  the  more  insisted 
upon  forms  of  the  doctrine  of  heredity,  and  brooded 
in  awed  pity  over  the  saying  of  her  father  in  one  of 
the  talks  of  the  three  together,  that  "every  man  is 
what  he  must  be."  Sargent,  fascinated  by  the 
theme,  drew  from  the  Judge  tales  of  his  judicial 
experiences,  and  certain  stern  conclusions  which  had 
come  from  them. 

The  Judge  averred  that  the  grasping  man — Slade 
was  the  text  of  his  homily — was  seldom  a  thief. 
"Worldly  wisdom  will  not  allow  outright  theft,"  he 
declared.  "Of  course  he  who  cheats  his  neighbor 
out  of  his  property  is  as  bad  as  a  thief, ' '  continued 
the  Judge,  "but  he  is  not,  after  all,  a  thief.  The 
thief  is  another  kind  of  man,  has  a  different  head, 


JOHN  HALFDAY'S  ERRAND.       265 

differing  eyes,  hands,  feet,  and  entirely  different 
make-up,  from  that  of  the  sharper  and  swindler  or 
grasping-  land  shark  we  know  of.  But  neither  of 
them  can  help,  once  he  has  yielded  to  his  bent,  being 
what  he  is."  And  then  to  these  thoughtful, 
speculative  human  beings,  educated  and  understand- 
ing, and  more  or  less  contented  together,  came  what 
disturbs  life  swiftly. 

At  one  side  of  the  garden,  underneath  where  two 
maple  trees  grew  close  together,  there  had  been 
made  a  long  seat  and  upon  this  seat  the  three, 
father,  daughter  and  lover,  had  been  accustomed  to 
idle  and  talk  together  after  the  mid-day  dinner 
in  the  shade  of  the  early  afternoon.  It  was 
very  pleasant,  this  communing,  but  there  was,  too, 
the  almost  inevitable  jostle  which  shows  the  quality 
of  such  human  beings  as  may  be  affected  by  it. 

One  day  as  the  three  sat  quietly  in  the  garden 
after  dinner,  their  talk  running  on  this  very  theme 
of  human  failings  and  their  almost  fateful  inevitable- 
ness,  Michael  came  running  like  a  line  of  blue  in  his 
jeans  overalls  and  "jumper" — which  is  a  sort  of 
jacket — across  the  fields  from  the  encircling  trees. 
He  came  from  the  direction  of  the  road  which  ran 
a  short  distance  from  Judge  Sloan's  boundaries, 
from  the  woods  toward  Conway,  the  county  seat 
and  town  eleven  miles  away. 

Instead  of  making  for  the  barn,  his  usual  goal,  or 
the  kitchen  door,  where  Tilda  stood  looking  at  him, 
and  ready  with  an  errand  for  him,  Michael  came 
straight  to  the  little  group  under  the  maples,  and 
without  removing  his  cap,  worn  summer  and 


266  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

winter,  the  swarthy  youth  began  a  hurried,  half 
inarticulate  tale  to  Judge  Sloan  in  which  John 
Halfday,  the  Indian  runner,  at  whose  cabin  by  a 
lake  in  the  woods  near  by,  Michael  spent  much 
valuable  time  loafing  and  talking  about  fishing,  and 
Hiram  Slade,  and  Conway  seemed  mixed  in 
inextricable  confusion. 

Sargent,  at  the  first  word,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
Judge  Sloan,  as  he  gradually  realized  what  Michael 
was  telling  him,  became  as  one  fixed  in  despair  and 
self-reproach. 

From  Michael's  confused  talk  it  was  at  last 
gathered  that  while  the  lazy  youth  was  lounging 
about  the  cabin  of  John  Halfday,  the  Indian 
runner  who  was  known  over  the  whole  State  alike 
for  his  habitual  indolence  and  his  great  feats  of 
occasional  running,  Hiram  Slade  had  appeared,  on 
foot,  and  engaged  the  Indian  to  go  with  the  utmost 
speed  to  Conway  with  a  paper,  which  must  be 
handed  in  at  the  Court  House  before  five  o'clock 
that  day.  The  Indian  had  at  once  made  ready  to 
go,  as  it  was  then  long  after  noon,  and  it  was  eleven 
miles  by  the  road  to  Conway.  Michael  had  not  been 
noticed  by  Slade  until  the  Indian  started  on  his  way, 
when  Michael  came  from  his  seat  on  the  chopping- 
log  back  of  the  cabin,  where  he  had  heard  the  bar- 
gaining between  Slade  and  Halfday.  Slade  caught  the 
black-eyed  Norseman's  cub  roughly  by  the  shoulder, 
and  threatened  to  "skin  him  alive"  if  he  said  any- 
thing about  John  Halfday's  errand,  and  Michael, 
twisting  himself  out  of  Slade's  hands,  had  run  for 
home  with  such  speed  as  was  in  his  spindle  legs. 


JOHN    HALFDAY'S  ERRAND.  267 

Slade,  as  he  saw  him  go,  had  shouted  after  John 
Halfday  that  he  must  run  for  his  life.  The  Indian 
looked  back,  uncertain  of  Slade's  meaning,  and 
stood  still  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  "Run !  Run 
for  your  life ! ' '  yelled  Slade.  The  Indian  at  last  made 
out  the  words  that  were  being  hurled  at  him.  He 
straightened  himself  up,  tightened  his  belt,  and  set 
off  on  a  dog-trot,  a  gait  he  could  keep  up  for  hours, 
along  the  road  toward  Conway.  All  this  the  keen 
eyes  and  ears  of  Michael  noted  as  he  skirted  along 
the  road  which  swerved  by  one  side  of  the  Sloan 
homestead,  and  all  this  he  told  gaspingly,  for,  some- 
how, this  combination  of  keen  and  dull  wits  knew 
that  Slade  and  Judge  Sloan  had  differing  interests, 
and  h>y  some  instinct  such  as  simple  natures  some- 
times have,  he  had  connected  the  errand  of  John 
Halfday  with  a  threatening  of  Judge  Sloan's  peace 
and  happiness. 

"Father,  what  troubles  you?"  anxiously  asked 
Barbara. 

Judge  Sloan  explained:  "Hiram  Slade  has  heard 
that  I  hold  a  quit-claim  deed  from  Tisdale ;  he  has 
secured  another  himself  and  has  sent  John  Halfday 
to  record  it.  This  will  cause  me  endless  trouble, 
and  I  may  lose  the  property  altogether." 

"But,  Judge  Sloan,"  said  Sargent,  "your  title  is 
all  right !  You  were  saying  only  the  other  day  that 
you  had  in  your  hands  John  Tisdale 's  quit-claim 
deed  to  all  the  property  of  the  original  patent." 

"I  have  never  had  it  recorded,"  Judge  Sloan  said, 
in  a  voice  of  anguish.  "I  have  neglected  it  from 
day  to  day — and  now  it  is  too  late!" 


268  THE    LAUNCHING   OF   A   MAN. 

"Father,"  said  Barbara,  "send  Michael  for  my 
pony ;  I  know  your  horse  is  lame ;  and  let  him  ride 
to  Con  way  and  record  your 'deed  before  Half  day  can 
get  there. ' ' 

"The  horses  are  out  in  the  woodland  ranges, 
Barbara," — the  Judge  spoke  in  a  dejected  tone — 
"and  your  pony  is  with  them.  It  would  take  an 
hour  to  find  them." 

"What  time  is  it?"  asked  Sargent,  suddenly. 

"Past  three  o'clock,"  was  the  answer. 

"See!"  cried  Michael,  pointing  southward  where 
the  road  reached  the  crest  of  a  hill,  and  as  they 
looked  they  all  saw  John  Halfday  hurrying  along  the 
road  as  it  disappeared  upon  the  wooded  hill-top. 

"I  will  take  your  deed  to  Conway,"  said  Sargent 
to  Judge  Sloan.  ' '  I  can  go  across  country,  saving  a 
mile's  distance,  and  possibly  reach  the  recorder's 
office  before  Halfday.  If  I  am  there  half  a  minute 
first  it  will  be  all  right. " 

Then,  seeing  Judge  Sloan  hesitate,  he  turned  to 
Barbara.  "Please  run  and  get  the  paper,"  he  said, 
"while  I  make  ready  for  the  go.  I  think  I  can 
win  in  a  race  with  any  Indian,  even  with  Halfday, 
who  has  won  more  prizes  at  running  than  I  have. 
Anyhow,  I'll  try  it." 

Barbara,  directed  where  to  look  by  her  father, 
sprang  into  the  house,  and  returned  immediately 
with  an  official  looking  envelope  from  which  Judge 
Sloan  took  and  examined  the  quit-claim  deed  before 
giving  it  to  Sargent. 

The  young  man  was  dressed  in  the  easy  costume 
of  his  western  work,  with  blue  flannel  shirt,  leathern 


JOHN  HALFDAY'S  ERRAND.       269 

belt  and  corduroys.  He  had  thrown  off  his  coat  and 
looked  well  to  his  shoes,  which  were  broad  of  sole, 
yet  well  fitting  his  feet ;  he  had  sent  Michael  flying 
to  his  room  for  a  cap  in  place  of  the  straw  hat  he 
usually  wore,  and  now  he  stood  ready  for  the  start, 
a  tall,  sinewy,  well-knit  figure,  with  energy  and 
determination  showing  in  every  line  of  his  face  and 
every  motion  of  his  body. 

Old  Tilda,  unable  to  bear  the  strain  of  curiosity 
longer,  was  half-way  from  the  house  to  the 
little  group  of  excited  people  of  which  her  son  had 
been  the  center.  What  had  Michael  done  now?  the 
mother  asked  herself.  Had  he  burned  the  school- 
house,  out  of  hatred  to  his  place  of  torment? — a 
vision  of  his  crime  blazed  across  Tilda's  mental 
horizon,  for  Michael  had  made  dire  threats  against 
school  and  school-master  last  winter,  when  he  had 
been  forced  to  school,  despite  his  age,  for  he  was 
still  almost  unable  to  read.  But  somehow,  as  she 
approached  the  knot  of  four  earnest  people,  stand- 
ing in  the  garden,  Tilda's  quick  instinct  told  her 
that  her  dwarfish  son  was  rather  the  subject  of 
approval  from  his  betters  than  otherwise,  and  she 
stood  still,  watching  Sargent  as  he  spoke  quietly  and 
earnestly  to  Judge  Sloan  and  then  turned  to  Barbara 
for  a  word  before  leaving  her.  The  girl's  face  was 
trustful,  and  full  of  pride  as  she  looked  up  at  her 
lover.  It  was  an  hour  of  triumph  for  Michael  when, 
a  little  later,  he  stood  by  Tilda's  chair  and  under 
maternal  authority  submitted  to  her  questionings  as 
to  what  had  occurred. 


270  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  FOOT  RACE. 

As  he  stepped  down  upon  the  walk  that  led  between 
the  flower-beds,  Sargent  turned  a  laughing  glance 
back  toward  Barbara.  4 '  I  must  hurry, ' '  he  said,  then 
walked  lightly  down  the  path  to  the  gate  and,  as 
soon  as  he  reached  the  slope  outside,  went  forward 
at  a  trot.  The  girl  had  walked  to  the  house  and 
stood  in  the  doorway  watching  him  and,  though  he 
did  not  intend  it  should  be  so,  saw  him  change  his 
gait  as  he  turned  the  corner  down  the  roadway.  As 
for  him,  his  heart  was  full  of  her  and  his  lungs  full 
of  the  pure  air  of  the  region,  and,  though  he  was  not 
assured  of  the  outcome  of  the  run,  he  felt  at  least 
hopeful  and  resolved.  He  would  do  the  best  he 
could !  What  man  so  fortunate  as  to  own  her  would 
not  do  the  best  he  could  for  the  creature  standing 
there  in  the  doorway!  Before  him  was  the  tremen. 
dous  task  of  a  straight-away  run  of  more  than  ten 
miles  across  a  wooded  and  uneven  country,  the 
sort  of  run  that  has  tested  all  there  is  in  man's 
physique  since  the  Olympian  days,  but  he  was  not 
distressed.  He  ran  easily  and  smoothly,  even  after 
he  had  reached  the  first  upward  slope.  He  was  in 
fair  bodily  condition,  because  of  his  so  recent  hard 
experiences  in  the  far  southwest.  And,  as  he 
increased  his  pace,  he  thought  of  the  college  races 


THE    FOOT    RACE.  271 

and  of  how  a  trained  man  of  his  quality  should  run 
a  mile  in  at  least  eight  minutes  easily. 

But  miles  are  cruel  things.  It  is  in  the  second 
mile  of  such  rough  racing  as  this  that  the  strongest 
and  best  of  runners  becomes  aware  that  he  is  run- 
ning. So  after  the  first  up-hill  work  came  the  con- 
sciousness to  Sargent,  and  it  came  portentously. 
He  knew  within  a  very  little  time  that  he  had  what 
was  very  like  a  headache,  that  there  was  a  slight 
pain  in  his  side,  that  his  feet  were  burning  a  little 
and  that  his  eyes  seemed  dim  in  a  way,  while  his 
mouth  was  becoming  dry.  But  he  made  the  mile  in 
decent  time. 

The  bodily  distresses  increased  upon  him  and, 
while  the  manhood  in  him  prevented  even  the  slight- 
est consideration  of  it,  the  suggestion  developed  in 
his  mind  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  stop  and  rest. 
He  had  an  up-hill  run  now,  and  that  was  trying. 
He  went  at  it  resolutely,  but  his  gait  became  slower 
and  slower  as  his  energy  was  expended.  The 
upward  reaching  space  was  at  least  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  and  near  the  top  he  faltered  into  a  walk  and  so 
reached,  at  last,  a  long  level.  As  he  emerged  upon 
the  even  space  the  breath  came  back  to  him,  and 
the  bodily  infirmities  decreased  because  the  walk 
had  aided  him.  Into  his  mouth  came  back  the 
moisture  which  is  comfort  to  the  human  being.  His 
feet  had  been  dry  and  burning.  They  also  were 
now  moist  again.  He  was  less  absorbed  in  the 
sensations  of  his  own  body  and  reverted  more  in 
thought  to  what  it  was  all  about.  He  thought  of 
that  girl  of  his  whom  he  had  left  such  a  little  time 

18 

Lr 


272  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

ago  standing  there  in  the  doorway  and  he  ran 
faster  all  across  the  level  and  on  a  downward  grade. 
The  grade  continued  sloping  slightly  and  he 
freshened  at  every  step.  Now  that  he  had  compara- 
tive ease  for  thinking  came  keener  conceptions  in 
every  way  and,  so,  clearer  sense  of  obligation.  He 
worried  over  the  thought  of  how  the  Indian  might 
be  running.  Then  in  the  midst  of  this  anxiety  he 
broke  out  on  an  expanse  of  soggy  ground,  across 
which  no  runner  could  run  with  anything  like 
speed.  His  heart  fell  then,  but  there  was  no  paus- 
ing. At  the  end  of  half  a  mile,  after  steps  light, 
well  placed  and  leg-straining,  he  emerged  upon  an 
open,  rising  stretch  of  solid  ground.  What  a  relief 
it  was  to  feel  what  was  reliable  under  his  feet 
again!  But  now  the  pains  came  back  and  all  the 
burnings  and  thirst.  Then  over  a  slight  beech- 
crested  rise  he  looked  forward  upon  what  to  him 
seemed  more  beautiful  than  had  ever  appeared  such 
a  common  thing  before.  It  was  nothing  but  a  creek 
of  clear  water  running  straight  across  his  course. 
Somewhere  in  the  Bible,  some  fine  old  fellow  uses 
as  an  illustration  the  expression,  "As  the  hart 
panteth  after  the  water-brooks,"  but  as  compared 
with  Sargent,  the  hart  had  little  of  sensation.  As 
he  reached  that  water  he  plunged  into  it  half  knee 
deep  and  his  feet  were  new  things  in  a  moment. 
He  bent  over  and  with  scooping  hands  laved  face 
and  head,  and  then  pulling  back  his  sleeves,  thrust 
his  arms  half-way  to  the  elbow,  down  until  they 
rested  on  the  pebbly  bottom,  and  so  stood  there  bent 
uncouthly  upon  "all  fours"  until  hands  and  feet  were 


THE  FOOT    RACE.  273 

cooled  together.  The  rest  was  brief,  but  when 
Sargent  strode  out  on  the  bank  something  like 
normal  existence  had  come  again.  He  stood  there 
for  a  moment,  reached  up  his  arms  and  stretched 
them  outward  and  said  to  himself,  ' '  I  feel  almost  as 
if  I  hadn't  been  running,"  and  he  started  off  reso- 
lutely and  easily  at  a  dog-trot. 

The  course  now  lay  up-hill  for  half  a  mile  and  in 
the  midst  of  that  wearing  trot  Sargent  found  that 
the  water  in  his  shoes  and  stockings  made  it 
necessary  for  him  to  sit  down  and  wring  out  those 
articles  of  garb.  They  were  heavy  as  leaden  soles 
upon  his  feet.  He  wrung  the  stockings  dry  as  could 
be  done  with  his  strong  hands  and  put  them  on 
again  with  the  drained  shoes.  Somehow,  even  after 
this  little  rest,  he  now  felt  fagged,  and  finished  the 
up-hill  climb  in  a  simple  walk.  The  crest  reached, 
there  seemed  to  come  again  the  vigor  of  all  his  man- 
hood. The  water  and  the  walk  had  freshened  him 
and  half  his  long  run  was  done. 

There  was  a  level  stretch  now  and  the  big  fellow 
inhaled  a  deep  breath  and  started  out  upon  what  was 
like  running  again.  There  was  a  course  of  a  mile 
where  the  obstacles  were  but  slight  and  the  man 
thought  as  he  ran  how  easy  it  would  be  to  beat  the 
Indian  if  the  cross  country  forest  route  were  all  like 
this.  He  ran  this  mile  in  admirable  time,  but  as  he 
neared  the  pine-gladed  end  and  saw  another  hill 
before  him  in  the  distance,  there  came  that  sinking  of 
the  heart,  or,  to  speak  with  more  absolute  correctness, 
that  apparent  sinking  of  the  stomach  which  runners 
know  so  well.  The  straining  man  was  worried. 


274  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

The  physical  was  attacking  the  mental  with  all  its 
force,  and  Sargent  wondered  if  he  mightn't  gain 
even  something  by  a  little  rest.  Then  came  to  him 
the  thought  of  the  fair  woman  and  of  all  he  was 
running  for  and  of  what  would  follow  if  he  should 
fail.  There  came,  too,  an  undercurrent  of  some- 
thing of  the  athlete's  pride  and  he  thought  of  the 
contempt  in  which  he  himself  had  always  held  any 
one  who  is  designated  in  the  language  of  the  race- 
courses, and  even  of  college  athletics,  as  "a  quitter." 
He  struggled  forward  at  a  reasonable  speed.  For 
the  first  half  mile  it  was  level  and  then  the  man 
found  that  he  was  going  down-hill  at  a  slope  greater 
than  he  had  yet  encountered,  and  knew  that  the 
down-hill  course  he  must  now  take  would  be  more 
killing  than  even  the  up-hill  struggle.  For  the  first 
time  he  dropped  from  toe  running  to  what  racers 
call  the  flat-foot,  that  is,  dropping  from  the  spring 
of  the  toe  to  the  more  resisting  flat  of  the  entire 
sole.  Then  came  the  inevitable  which  must  always 
come  somewhere  in  a  ten  mile  race  of  a  man  across 
rough  country.  Sargent  may  have  been  more  or 
less  wise  in  the  things  he  had  done  in  the  first  half  of 
his  body  and  mind  distressing  race.  It  may  have 
been  that  he  was  wise  or  unwise  in  walking  into  the 
creek  and,  after  what  he  did,  getting  the  cool  com- 
fort from  head  to  heel  which  came  from  the  creek's 
waters.  But  almost  any  woman  servant  can  wring 
out  a  stocking  or  anything  else  better  than  any  man 
can — and  this  includes  Csesar  and  George  Washing- 
ton, and  any  one  else  one  can  think  of — and  so  this 
strong  man,  this  keen  man,  this  brown  man  who 


THE    FOOT    RACE.  275 

had  handled  other  men  for  years,  this  man  who  was 
exerting  himself  for  the  one  woman  as  every  good 
man  ought  to  do,  felt  that  in  the  matter  of  wring- 
ing out  his  stockings  he  hadn't  accomplished  all  the 
ends  which  might  possibly  be  desired,  and  there 
came  across  his  forehead  the  perspiration  which  was 
the  result  of  what  began  with  being  an  annoyance 
and  was  reaching  the  dignity  of  being  a  torture.  The 
stockings  clung  clammily,  there  was  an  abrasion 
between  them  and  the  linings  of  his  shoes  and  he 
knew  and  feared,  from  experience,  before  he  felt 
what  was  coming,  that  the  now  tender  skin  of  the 
soles  of  his  feet  was,  by  this  shifting  abrasion,  being 
scraped  away  to  rawness.  His  shoes  slipped  back- 
ward and  forward  beneath  his  feet  in  a  little  way, 
but  sufficient,  with  all  the  wetting  and  the  heating 
of  the  running,  to  cut  away  that  good  hard  callous 
which  comes  alike  upon  the  soles  of  the  greatest 
statesman,  philosopher  or  poet,  or  of  the  most 
delicate  woman  who  ever  trod  the  earth,  though 
violets  might  scarcely  bend  beneath  her  step.  It  is 
exceedingly  hard,  this  particular  sort  of  pain,  upon  a 
man,  for  no  man,  big  and  strong  though  he  be,  bears 
these  sorts  of  the  more  commonplace  agonies  as 
well  as  the  weakest  woman ;  but  he  straightened  out 
upon  his  toes  again  and  so  saved  a  little  of  the 
suffering.  He  weaved  a  little  as  he  ran  and  worried 
over  the  time  lost 

Then  came  a  time  when  physical  and  mental 
stress  were  nearly  alike.  This  was,  though  Sargent 
knew  very  little  of  it,  so  far  as  definite  knowledge 
of  distances  went,  somewhere  about  the  beginning 


276  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A    MAN. 

of  the  eighth  mile  of  his  long  run ;  there  was  still  a 
slope  downward  and  he  drew  in  his  breath  and  tried 
to  feel  what  was  in  his  muscles  again  and  exerted 
what  energy  he  had  in  covering  ground  until  the  rise 
began.  He  knew  now  that  whatever  his  opponent 
might  be  doing,  either  one  of  them  could  not  be  at 
a  running  gait  save  for  a  portion  of  the  time, 
though  the  Indian  might  trot.  There  was  a  half 
mile  of  this  good  work  with  lungs  and  mouth  and 
feet  all  in  tolerably  good  condition,  until  he  faced  a 
steep  uprising  hill  again.  The  very  sight  of  the  hill 
seemed  to  affect  the  mental  condition  of  the  man. 
The  headache  came  back.  The  feet,  under  the 
rasping  of  the  wetted,  half  dried  stockings,  were  but 
raw  things  on  their  soles.  Everything  bore  upon 
him,  and  he  was  beginning  to  give  out.  There  must 
come  a  time  when  any  man  who  ever  lived  and 
fought  or  ran,  whether  for  fame  or  money  or  a 
woman,  must  feel  himself  beginning  to  give  out. 
Still,  though  his  physical  machinery  was  weakening, 
the  mental  powers  of  the  man  were  in  good  working 
order.  He  staggered  up  the  hill  and  wished  he 
could  "kick"  himself  for  being  such  a  weakling. 
He  used  bad  language  to  himself.  He  wondered 
why  he  hadn't  kept  himself  in  better  trim — though 
there  was  no  particular  reason  why  he  should  have 
done  so — and,  in  a  general  way,  made  little  of  the 
person  he  was.  He  thought  of  how  much  better 
bursts  of  speed  he  had  made  in  college  days  over 
even  rougher  ground,  and  became  even  more  enraged 
at  himself  and  used  more  bad  language,  from  the 
stomach — if  language  may  originate  there. 


THE    FOOT    RACE.  277 

Then  came  a  level  stretch  again  and  the  foolish 
fellow's  mind  cleared  and  he  began  again  to  know 
what  he  was  doing.  He  had  sense  enough,  even 
after  all  that  tapping  of  his  physical  resources  and 
its  effect  upon  his  mind,  to  remember  that  his  forces 
should  be  conserved  and,  even  when  he  again  came 
upon  the  level,  attempted  no  great  burst  of  speed. 
He  ran  steadily,  evenly,  but  within  limits,  for  all 
there  was  in  him  as  long  as  the  level  lasted.  Then 
came  to  him  the  queer  feeling  which  comes  to 
runners  of  long  distances.  He  felt  as  if  his  arms 
and  his  feet  were  dropping  off.  There  was  some- 
thing the  matter  with  the  joints.  The  muscles 
around  where  they  worked  seemed  too  flexile  and 
flaccid  and  his  limbs  departing  from  his  body. 
There  was  something  the  matter,  too,  with  the 
muscles  of  the  top  of  the  spinal  column,  for  his  head 
lopped  forward  as  he  ran.  And  still  he  maintained 
his  speed. 

Suddenly,  the  man  emerged  upon  the  crest  of  a 
hill  from  which  were  slopes  far  down  into  a 
pleasant  valley  where  nestled  a  little  northern  town, 
with  its  two  church  spires  and  its  somewhat  pre- 
posterous court  house  dome,  the  court  house  being 
in  the  center  of  what  was  known  as  the  "City 
Square,"  and  surrounded  by  a  stiff  board  fence 
about  seven  feet  in  height,  the  sole  entrance  to  this 
square  being  upon  the  eastern  side,  opening  thus 
from  what  was  recognized  as  the  main  thorough- 
fare, because  assuredly  the  best  boots  and  the  best 
whisky  could  be  bought  along  that  single  block. 
Here,  in  open  sight,  was  the  goal  of  the  running 


278  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

man.  It  was  there  before  his  eyes  and  he  was  run- 
ning down-hill  again,  and  this  time  as  he  ran  down- 
ward there  was  very  little  imagination  about  it  when 
he  thought  to  himself  that  there  were  no  soles  upon 
his  feet.  With  the  attrition  of  all  this  varying 
striding,  his  feet  were  skinned,  and  but  for  the 
excitement  upon  him,  he  would  have  been  suffering 
one  of  the  various  forms  of  torture  such  as  were 
devised  in  mediaeval  times.  But  he  scarcely  knew 
it.  He  saw  the  town  in  the  distance  and  he  had  an 
object.  Take  a  strong  man  and  some  excitement 
and  some  water  and  a  woman  to  win,  and  what  that 
man  may  or  may  not  do  depends  upon  accidents — 
and  the  man.  As  he  ran,  Sargent  knew  that  the 
bottom  of  his  feet  were  raw,  that  the  stockings  he 
wore  were  now  sticking  to  them  and  now  pulling 
away,  and  again  came  to  him  the  feeling  that  his 
arms  and  legs  were  unconnected  with  the  rest  of  his 
body.  Another  odd  feeling  came  to  him.  His  head 
was  like  a  furnace,  and  he  imagined  foolish  things. 
He  imagined  the  road  suddenly  lifting  itself  up  at  a 
hard  angle  in  front  of  him,  and  then,  too,  he  had 
great  difficulty  in  avoiding  stumps  and  trees  which 
existed  nowhere  in  the  vicinity.  It  seemed  all 
right  in  a  way,  even  the  passage  through  these 
varying  things,  but  there  came  suddenly  a  gulp  in 
the  throat  of  the  man  as  he  ran  and  a  sort  of  quiver 
through  him,  and  he  was  scared.  He  was  scared, 
not  for  himself,  that  is  as  to  whether  he  were  dying 
or  not,  but  whether  or  not  he  could  be  a  "quitter." 
As  he  stumbled  down  the  path  way,  for  it  was  little 
more  than  stumbling  now,  he  came  upon  a  spring 


THE    FOOT    RACE.  279 

and  had  at  least  sense  enough,  or  if  not  sense, 
instinct  left  to  throw  himself  beside  it  and  bathe  his 
head  and  hands.  Then  came  sudden  reasoning 
power  again  and  comprehensiveness  of  all  surround- 
ings. Tottering  somewhat,  he  resumed  his  course 
and  came  out  upon  the  open.  The  little  town  lay 
before  him  to  the  east.  He  glanced  around  and 
across  and  there,  to  the  south,  he  saw,  as  he  emerged 
from  the  woods,  the  Indian,  John  Halfday,  who  had 
issued  from  the  forest  at  the  same  moment  and  who 
stood  looking  at  him,  poised  and  astonished.  There 
they  stood,  the  white  man  and  the  Indian,  at  the  two 
corners  of  an  equilateral  triangle.  At  the  other 
corner  stood  the  court  house,  with  the  opening  of  its 
high  board  fence  on  the  Indian's  side. 

The  two  men,  the  white  and  the  red,  looking  at 
each  other  across  the  valley,  knew  what  each  must 
try  to  do.  The  amount  of  time  lost  then  would 
have  to  be  considered  by  the  finest  of  stop-watches. 
They  simply  hurled  themselves  down  their  respect- 
ive hills  together,  each  thinking  and  thinking 
"mighty  hard"  in  his  own  way. 

It  is  very  doubtful  if,  since  the  world  began,  a 
man  ever  really  knew  when  he  had  "given  out,"  as 
we  would  call  it.  Sargent  had  thought  that  he  had 
given  out  at  three  or  four  places  during  the 
tremendous  run,  and,  assuredly,  he  thought  he  was 
exhausted  when  he  reached  the  crest  of  the  round 
ridge  surrounding  the  little  town.  But  it  never 
occurred  to  this  man  who  threw  himself  down  the 
hill  that  he  was  exhausted  at  all ;  it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  been  running  for  some  distance 


280  THE    LAUNCHING    OF   A   MAN. 

on  this  particular  day.  And  here  comes  in  an  odd 
thing.  It  may  be  to  his  credit  or  to  his  discredit, 
but  as  he  ran  he  forgot  that  he  was  running  for  a 
woman  or  for  right  or  for  anything  in  particular. 
There  but  uprose  in  him  in  this  last  great  strait  and 
strain  of  his  exertion  of  all  that  was  in  him  the  one 
feeling,  which  the  Berserker  knew,  which  the 
Anglo-Saxons  know  and  have  in  them  to-day,  the 
feeling  simply  that  the  other  fellow  must  be  beaten. 
And  this  was  all  that  Sargent  thought,  and  even 
that  he  thought  but  vaguely,  as  he  burst  down  the 
hill  toward  that  brown  board  fence. 

Good  running  did  that  Indian  as  well,  and  he 
knew  the  town  and  knew  what  he  had  to  do.  There 
was  just  what  might  be  called  a  streak  of  Indian 
from  the  forest  clear  down  to  where  the  court 
house  square  was,  and  each  yard's  advance  of  his 
opponent  was  noticed  by  Sargent  in  his  run.  And 
now,  after  all  distress,  his  mind  suddenly  seemed 
clarified.  He  gauged  relative  paces.  He  knew 
that  the  Indian  entering  at  the  east  gate  and  the 
only  gate  at  the  Court  House  Square  must  reach  the 
Recorder's  office  before  he  could,  by  keen  running, 
straight  away.  Were  it  not  for  the  high  board 
fence  he  had  a  chance.  Oh,  for  a  vaulting  pole! 
But  wherever  in  a  town  of  northern  Michigan  are 
vaulting  poles  lacking?  The  pike  poles  of  the 
lumberman  and  the  loggers  lie  all  about,  and  upon 
one  of  these  the  eyes  of  the  fortunate  runner 
alighted.  He  seized  upon  it,  and  the  uplifting  leap 
as  he  cleared  that  great  board  fence  was  the  last 
great  effort  of  his  long  race.  He  fell  in  a  heap 


THE    FOOT    RACE.  281 

among  some  clover,  fell  in  a  heap  and  scrambled  up 
clumsily  with  bumble-bees  about  him,  and  little  more 
than  stumbled  through  the  court  house  door  and 
into  the  Recorder's  office. 

"This  for  record — "  he  almost  croaked.  "Look 
at  the  clock!" 

There  was  what  seemed  but  a  shadow  in  the 
hallway,  and  John  Half  day  leaped  in.  He  looked 
about,  said  nothing,  and  then  with  a  grunt  laid  a 
paper  on  the  nearest  desk  and  walked  out  again. 


282  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ROSE  IN  BLOOM. 

"And  the  world  went  very  well  then."  Slowly 
the  belated  summer  fared  northward;  the  tender 
leaves  of  the  maples,  shaped  as  if  patterned  by  the 
fantastic  hand  of  some  artist  of  the  exotic  East, 
were  approaching  their  climax  of  beauty ;  the  beech 
leaves  were  unrolled,  and  as  their  early  red  tints 
vanished  there  came  to  them  a  color  so  delicate,  so 
refined  and  ideal,  that  looking  at  the  sky  through 
the  branches  they  lived  upon,  the  heart  of  the  forest 
lover  was  exalted,  so  potent  was  their  story  of 
vigorous  young  life. 

"To  call  those  trees  green,  and  the  sky  behind 
them  blue, ' '  said  Barbara,  as  she  stood  with  Sargent 
wondering  over  the  beauty  of  a  grove  of  beeches 
outlined  against  the  pure  sky  of  morning,  "is  an 
evil  misuse  of  words. "  And  as  Sargent  assented, 
she  continued :  "In  nothing  is  language  so  poverty- 
stricken  as  in  its  attempts  at  color  description.  The 
poets  are  driven  to  the  flowers  or  birds — to  nature — 
for  words  which  give  only  a  dim  idea  of  what  colors 
really  are. ' ' 

"And  so  we  have  'daffodil  skies'  and  'violet  eyes' 
and  'saffron  dyes',"  chimed  in  Sargent,  but  Barbara 
stopped  him  with  an  imperious  wave  of  the  hand. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  'dropping  into  poetry,'  or 


ROSE    IN    BLOOM.  283 

trying  to  do  so  on  your  own  account.  If  you  are  I 
warn  you  from  the  set  of  rhymes  you  are  trespassing 
on!  They  belong  to  the  Queen!" 

"What  Queen?  I  acknowledge  but  one,  and  what 
is  mine  is  hers  and  what  is  hers  is  mine, ' '  the  lover 
answered. 

"Oh!  but  you  are  a  true  and  loyal  subject  to  this 
Queen!"  insisted  Barbara.  "I  have  only  to  name 
her — Titania!" 

"Of  course,"  admitted  Sargent,  "and  you  are 
thinking  of  that  reaching,  imperfect  perfection  of  a 
speech  of  hers,  where  at  first  the  rhyme  is  to  the  eyes 
and  not  to  the  ears,  and  then  there  is  a  jar  at  the 
end  of  one  line — a  discord,  to  make  the  coming 
music  sweeter. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  that  is  one  of  the  things  that  has 
always  stuck  fast  in  your  memory,  as  it  has  in 
mine!"  cried  Barbara,  for  in  such  discoveries  of 
common  tastes  and  delights  the  two  always  reveled. 
And  they  chanted  together  like  two  children  the 
sometimes  almost  cloying  sweetness  of  the  Poet  of 
all  human  passions  as  well  as  of  the  most  unearthly 
fairy  fancies: 

"Feed  him  with  apricocks  and  dewberries, 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs  and  mulberries, 
The  honey-bags  steal  from  the  bumblebees ; 
And  for  night  tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glowworm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed  and  to  arise ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies 
To  fan  the  moonbeams  from  his  sleeping  eyes, 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies." 

They  strolled  into  the  deeper  woods,  along  the 


284  THE    LAUNCHING    OF    A    MAN. 

creek,  and,  after  a  little  silence,  when  the  song-  was 
ended,  Sargent  returned  to  the  attack  Barbara  had 
begun  on  words. 

"They  are  almost  good  for  nothing,"  he  declared; 
"in  any  stress  of  feeling  they  are  useless.  In 
love—" 

"Then  why  say  anything?"  interrupted  the  girl, 
who  foresaw  the  coming  homily  and  anticipated  its 
conclusion  by  promptly  getting  ready  to  be  kissed, 
and  in  this  important  transaction  they  agreed  that 
there  was  no  inadequacy  or  disappointment. 

Then  the  two  sat  down  by  the  stream  under  the 
trees  and  watched  the  water  slipping  over  the 
brown  stones  in  sunlight  and  shadow.  From  the 
hill  rising  near  them,  where  lay  the  spring  which 
fed  the  creek,  they  could  hear  the  sighing  of  the 
pines ;  an  undertone  deeper  than  the  rustling  sound 
of  the  trees  above  their  heads.  It  was  a  time  of 
measureless  content;  of  reverential  happiness  too 
deep  for  speech,  and  there  was  silence  for  a  space 
between  these  two  who  usually  had  so  much  to  say 
to  each  other. 

At  last  from  fullness  of  heart  spoke  one,  and  there 
came  from  the  other  reply  so  apt  in  tone,  in  feeling 
and  thought  and  word,  that  to  the  keen  comprehen- 
sion of  one  who  could  understand,  no  earthly  music 
could  compare  with  such  harmony. 

They  spoke  of  their  coming  life  together,  of  what 
they  hoped  to  do  for  each  other  and  for  the  great, 
beautiful  world  which  held  them,  and  as  they  rose 
to  turn  their  steps  homeward,  Sargent  repeated  to 
Barbara  the  words  of  the  Odyssey:  "For  there  is 


ROSE    IN    BLOOM.  285 

nothing  mightier  and  nobler  than  when  man  and 
wife  are  of  one  heart  and  mind  in  a  house,  a  grief  to 
their  foes,  and  to  their  friends  great  joy,  but  their 
own  hearts  know  it  best. ' ' 

As  they  reached  the  house  the  lovers  paused  by 
the  door,  and  Sargent  looked  closely  at  the  climbing 
rose  vine  which  clambered  over  the  rough  logs  on 
either  side,  sending  out  vigorous  sprays  tipped  with 
buds.  It  was  the  beautiful  Michigan  Rose,  whose 
pink,  five-petaled  blossoms,  growing  in  great 
clusters,  he  had  been  waiting  for  longingly  because 
of  the  promise  of  a  certain  Beautiful  Lady  who  was 
never  far  from  his  thoughts.  "It  blossoms  late  in 
this  'northe  countree,"  "  he  complained,  while 
Barbara  showed  the  true  rose  color  in  her  loving 
face.  "But  it  must  blossom!"  he  declared,  tri- 
umphantly. 

A  few  mornings  later  Judge  Sloan  looked  up  as 
Sargent's  shadow  darkened  the  open  doorway  where 
the  morning  sun  shone  in.  The  young  man  was 
coming  in  from  the  garden,  looking  for  Barbara, 
who  was  not  yet  downstairs. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  buoyant?"  asked  the  elder 
man,  smiling  as  he  noted  the  sparkling  eyes  and 
springing  aspect  of  his  guest.  Sargent  had  in  his 
hand  a  blossoming  spray  of  half-opened  roses. 
They  were  pink,  five  petaled,  and  growing  upon  a 
long,  thickly  leaved  stem.  He  held  it  up  for  the 
Judge  to  see. 

"The  Rose  is  in  bloom,"  he  said. 

THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


DEC 


DEC 


Form  L9-Series  444 


A     000  085  905     8 


